


I Can Change

by there_must_be_a_lock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demons, F/M, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Sex, Smut, Soulless Sam Winchester, Vampires, forces of evil - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2018-12-26 05:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12052287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/there_must_be_a_lock/pseuds/there_must_be_a_lock
Summary: The reader has a one night stand with Sam. A couple years later, she meets the Winchesters under very different circumstances.





	1. Chapter 1

"To us," Jenna declared solemnly, and lifted her lime slice in a toast before downing her shot. You followed suit, clinking your empty glass with hers the same way you'd been doing since freshman orientation.

"To moving the fuck on," you said. From undergrad, from Boston, from your now-ex boyfriend, what the fuck ever.

"To the dude staring at you," Jenna giggled, eyebrows raised in a way that seemed to indicate approval. "To your right. I'm gonna go get more shots." She slipped off her stool before you could say anything, and you were left blushing and trying not to look. You lifted your shoulders and ran a hand through your hair, reminding yourself of the extra effort you'd put into your appearance tonight. Two more nights in Boston, then you were gone. Plus you deserved a rebound, after the shitshow of your recent breakup. _What the hell, right?_

_Fucking shit._ He was gorgeous, and definitely staring in a way that would be incredibly creepy if he was any less attractive...but between the bedhead, the jawline and the long fingers curled around his glass, the stare sent a jolt of electricity to all the right places. You almost looked behind you to make sure he wasn't actually staring at someone else. Before you could catch your breath, he drained his glass and stood up, and began stalking toward you. For all his towering height (he had at least three inches over anyone else in your line of sight) he moved gracefully. Your mind flashed to a Discovery Channel shot of a mouse being hunted, and you swallowed hard.

"I'm Sam," he said. You held out your hand automatically, fighting the urge to break his too-intense eye contact. His palm dwarfed yours when he took it. He was standing too close, and you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes, so that he was all you could see, and he smelled like something spicy and subtle, and you were in so much goddamn trouble.

"I-" you said, and your voice caught. "Y/N. My name is Y/N."

"Y/N," he almost-whispered. "I'll buy you a drink, if you want. But I'm only going to be here for a night, and I'd much rather skip the formalities and save us some time." He leaned toward you, resting one massive hand on your hip, and the heat from his palm radiated through you. "Come back to my hotel with me. I'm not trying to pressure you, and I'll walk away right now if you want. But I promise, we'd have fun." He stepped back and looked you up and down, not even bothering to be subtle about it, and then cocked his head, waiting for an answer.

"I don't-" you managed, and stopped. _I don't do this. I don't know you. I don't think this is safe, or smart. I don't care._ You opened your mouth again, but nothing came out. _Fuck._

"Tell you what," he said. He took a step back. "I'm going to go to the restroom and give you a moment. Think about it. I promise, I won't hurt you… unless you want me to." He smirked as he said it, watching your reaction, and then walked away.

_Fucking hell, what are you doing?_ your brain was screaming, finally catching up to your much-too-excited body.

Jenna slid back into her seat and passed you a tequila shot. "He just...asked me to go back to his hotel with him," you said. His bluntness was making your head spin.

"Just like that?" she asked. "Well...what are you waiting for? I'm taking that shot right back if you don't promise me you'll go get some tonight."

"Yeah," you said. "I mean...I shouldn't. This is such a bad idea, objectively. I've never just gone home with a stranger like that. But like. I really want to." You were babbling, and you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts.

"Yes," she said, nodding firmly. "For the love of all that is good and holy, go the fuck home with him. This dude is worth breaking your rule for."

"Yeah," you said, and took your tequila shot. Warmth spread through your chest, making you feel a little more brave. "Okay. Yeah. Thanks."

"Yeah, good choice," Jenna said, ogling Sam shamelessly as he made his way back from the bathroom.

"Hey," said Sam. His hand found the small of your back and he smiled down at you. "Ready?"

"I'll call the cops if I don't hear from her by tomorrow morning," Jenna said sweetly. Sam grinned at her, a real smile that made him suddenly look like a puppy dog instead of a predator.

"Sheraton, room 411. Under the name Neil Peart. But I promise, I mean her no harm." He slid his arm all the way around your shoulders and gave you the slightest squeeze, and somehow, you did feel reassured. Sure he could've been lying. He could be a fucking axe murderer and this could totally be the start of a shitty horror movie. But you had a funny feeling that you were safer with him, tucked right here under his arm, than just about anywhere else.

"Have fun." Jenna winked at you and headed back toward the bar, and you were left with Sam.

"Still want to go?" Sam asked quietly. You pushed away the nasty little whispers from the part of your brain that liked to overthink things, and focused on the warmth of his arm around you, the way your skin tingled where he touched.

"Yes," you said, and again, louder, "yes." You looked up to meet his eyes, and smiled. Something in his gaze turned dark and wild again.

"Good," he said firmly. He grabbed your hand and led you outside.

"Neil Peart? Not your most subtle option," you teased, trying to sound casual. He grinned down at you, but didn't respond. Not one for small talk, obviously. You flushed. "It's just a block this way," he said, pointing. He moved silently, with the feline sort of grace you'd noticed in the bar, and it made you all too conscious of your racing heartbeat, the clumsy way your hands fell at your sides, the slump of your shoulders. It felt like every molecule in you was straining toward him as you walked.

By the time you reached the hotel, the self-consciousness was giving way to want, because _fuck it._ This beautiful man wanted you, of all people. And the way he looked at you made you shiver, sent heat coiling through your whole body, and he might be a stranger, but he held the door open for you like a gentleman, and... _fuck it_.

The door clicked shut behind you. You kept your back to him, waiting, with your heartbeat pounding in your throat. He was moving silently still, but suddenly he was close enough that his breath ghosted against your ear when he spoke. "Is this okay?" he asked, and his hands slid around you from behind, pulling you closer, so that you could feel his whole body pressed against your back.

"Yes," you whispered.

"Good." His voice was a low growl in your ear, and his lips dipped down to the curve of your neck, brushing against your skin ever so slightly. You tilted your head for him and sighed when his teeth nipped gently, just below your ear. He pushed your hair out of the way and kissed a line down your neck to your shoulder, while one arm tightened against your chest, holding you in place. Not that you'd choose to move, even if you could. Still holding you in place with one arm, he splayed the other hand over your sternum, one callused thumb rubbing gently at the hollow of your throat, lips slowly exploring your ear. You felt drunk, all warm tingles where he touched you, languid movements making you melt back against him. Slowly, ever so slowly, his hand moved from your breastbone to your neck, tracing up your jawline and back down, wrapping gently around your throat. You let out an involuntary gasp at the heat that surged through your belly, and when he tightened his grasp you couldn't help but grind back against him. You let your head fall back and your eyes close, giving yourself over completely. His fingers pressed harder against your bare throat. You arched your back helplessly, rubbing your ass against the hardness of his cock through his jeans, desperate for any sort of friction.

"Please," you gasped, one shallow short breath. He growled, a low rasp deep in his chest, and the hand that wasn't choking you snaked down to the hem of your dress, dragging the thin material up your thigh until the lace of your panties was exposed. His palm flat against you, he reached down slowly, dipping two fingers inside you, curling them up into your wetness while the heel of his hand pressed into your clit. You rocked forward against his palm and saw sparks. You would've moaned if you'd had any breath left, but his fingers were still wrapped tight around your throat. He'd barely touched you, hadn't even kissed you, and you were so fucking wet that those long fingers slid in and out of you like it was nothing, and if he kept this up you'd come before he'd even gotten you out of your clothes.

As if he knew exactly when it started to be too much, he pulled away, releasing you so abruptly that your legs almost buckled. You whimpered at the loss of sensation, but when you turned around to face him, he was pulling his shirt over his head, and the visual almost made up for the fact that he wasn't touching you anymore. All those long lines of rippling muscle made you remember, again, how dangerous this was. This man could hold you down with one hand without breaking a sweat...and the thought was way hotter than it should've been.

He stepped back toward you slowly, all predatory grace again. He was waiting for you. You pulled your dress over your head and just stood there, goosebumps prickling over your skin, while his eyes raked over you, taking in your soaked-through panties. He reached behind you and unhooked your bra, pulling it off with one smooth motion. You sucked in a breath at the cold air on your breasts, and fought the urge to cover yourself with your hands. He had his head tilted to the side again like he was studying you, tightly coiled, ready to pounce. And then he was touching you again, thank god, crushing you to his chest with those inhumanly-strong arms, lips on yours with bruising force, body surging against yours and making you realize again how tiny you were next to him.

You reached up to wrap your arms around his neck and let yourself get lost. His mouth was hungry and demanding and perfect. Without warning, he hooked his hands under the backs of your thighs and lifted you, like it was nothing. It was all you could do to wrap your legs around his waist and hold on; all you could feel was his skin, his teeth on your lower lip, the muscles of his arms, one hand against your back, and when he dragged his fingernails slowly down your spine you moaned into his mouth, your head spinning. You barely noticed he was moving, but he stopped at the edge of the bed and released you, and you sprawled back onto the mattress like a rag doll. He almost ripped your panties when he pulled them down, and then he was kneeling between your knees and running one hand up your thigh, callouses making his fingertips rough against your sensitive skin. You were too far gone to be self conscious, and you spread your legs shamelessly for him and arched into his touch. He slipped a finger inside you again, almost delicately, watching you squirm breathlessly. It was nowhere near enough, even when he crooked his finger up into the spot that made your legs start to shake. You whined, twisting your hands in the blanket.

He shifted in one fluid motion, leaning forward, and traced your nipple with the very tip of his tongue, circling gently once, then scraping ever so slightly with his teeth, and you cried out, so turned on it was almost painful. He pulled back to stare at you, jaw taut, before shifting again, moving lower, and dropping down to drag his tongue up your clit. You let out a ragged, wordless moan. His tongue curled up into you, hot and wet, then flicked up to your clit again, as he slipped two long fingers inside you at the same time. You rocked up into his mouth, twisting your hips, seeing stars already, and your hands found his hair, trying to force him closer. He groaned against your pussy when you tugged, and the vibrations made your entire body buzz. You were so wet that his fingers made an obscene sound as they twisted into you.

"Please," you managed, and he groaned again at the neediness in your voice. He fit his lips around your clit and sucked, hard, while his fingers pressed into you, and there was a white-hot electricity running over your skin, setting your body on fire...you could hear your own voice as if from a distance, moaning his name, and then you spasmed around his fingers and almost blacked out with the force of your orgasm.

"Good girl," he whispered in your ear, his fingers fucking you through it, and all you could do was whimper and gasp through the aftershocks. You had to squeeze your eyes shut for a moment while you tried to regain control of your body. Everything was too bright, too sensitive...but you could hear Sam next to you, unbuckling his belt and slipping out of his jeans, and then he was still, and you knew he was watching you again with those dark, hungry eyes.

You took in a long, shuddering breath and looked at him, really looked, letting your eyes travel up and down his body the same way he'd looked at you. He was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow. It made him look like a Greek god posing for a painting. His lips were red and swollen and glistening wet. You looked down and blinked at his abs stupidly. This guy can't be fucking real, and then... _holy shit_. He was huge. You'd sort of figured as much, but it was another thing to actually see it, see the way his cock curved up against his stomach, thick and flushed, and your body responded with a near-painful twinge, and all you could think about was how good he was going to feel inside you.

You were really, really glad he hadn't wasted time buying you a drink. It was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

You came to slowly, your head throbbing, every muscle stiff and sore. There was something wet dripping from your head down onto your lap.

Blood. That was definitely blood. _Fuck._

You remembered following the vamp out of the bar when he left with a sweet-looking blonde girl. You remembered trailing them to the run-down house in the bad part of town, creeping slowly toward the front door, and then...pain. Lots and lots of pain.

You squinted around the room. It looked like a basement, with an unfinished concrete floor and exposed pipes in the ceiling. The sweet-looking blonde was standing by the door, arms crossed, with some distinctly non-human fangs bared in a wide smile.

It was a trap. _Fucking dumbass._

You started squirming, rocking back and forth, but you were tied tightly to a very solid metal chair, and the movement made your head spin. A year of your life spent searching for these assholes, only to end up tied to a chair. _Hell no._

The blonde girl was examining her fingernails with exaggerated disdain, obviously confident in the strength of your restraints. “Boys, dinner’s getting twitchy,” she yelled, without looking your way. Your stomach dropped. You couldn’t get to the tiny knife you’d stowed in your boot. The restraints cutting into your wrists were thick, rigid zip ties, from what you could feel. You’d lost enough blood, judging by the stains covering your jeans, to put you somewhere substantially below full strength; and to top it all off, there were at least three thumping sets of footsteps heading your way. The most you’d ever taken out was two at a time, and you’d gotten lucky then.

You closed your eyes, took a shaky breath, then another, and tried to think straight. You heard footsteps coming into the room, and could tell they were surrounding you. _Worse and worse._

“So this is the bitch who killed my brother,” spat an angry male voice. You opened your eyes and almost shut them again immediately. The vampire towering over you was well over six feet tall and probably around three hundred pounds, covered in tattoos. _There it is._ You saw the mark of their family, or whatever you’d call this ever-growing group, surrounded by tribal-style tattoos on the side of his neck.

“So this is the dick who still thinks tribal tattoos are stylish,” you snapped back, before you could think better of it. He growled at you, fangs sliding into place. On either side of him, two more much-too-big male vampires were baring their teeth and grinning, and the blonde had left her post at the door to hover at your right side.

“Let’s see if you can talk back when we’re finished with you,” she purred, leaning toward you. She tangled a hand in your hair and yanked your head back, and you had to bite back a scream of pain.

“Look at me,” said the big one, and blondie used your hair like motherfucking horse reins to hold your head still, while he leaned in so close you could smell his rank breath. There was absolute terror squirming around in the pit of your stomach, but more than anything, you were _pissed_. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end. They weren’t supposed to end at all until you’d found the asswipe who’d killed your best friend.

But here you were, nose to nose with this massive vamp, close enough to see the flecks of dried blood in his unkempt beard.

“I’m going to cut into you for a while,” he said, pulling a knife from his belt. “We’re going to take turns drinking from you, and then I’m gonna turn you. We’re going to turn you and let you loose, and I hope to hell some hunter finds you fast.” You shut your eyes again, genuine panic starting to rise. That was something you’d never considered, not really. _I will not cry in front of vampires._ You felt the coldness of a knife at your throat, then a searing jolt of pain at the side of your neck, and you couldn’t help but cry out this time.

Overhead, there was a shout, and something heavy fell, thumping loudly against the ceiling. Your eyes shot open. Blondie and the smaller male vamps were already rushing out the door, while the big one had drawn a huge, nasty-looking axe in one hand, still gripping the knife in the other. He advanced slowly toward the door. _It’s not over yet._ You started to struggle again, wriggling back and forth, but pain lanced through your neck. There was a rapidly-growing blossom of warm blood spreading down your shirt, and you had to close your eyes against a wave of dizziness. _Please, please, please…_

You could hear scuffling feet upstairs, then a grunt and a scream, and what sounded like a body hitting the floor. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest.

“Down here!” you shouted, around the lump in your throat.

The big vamp was still lingering by the door, weapons at the ready, looking out cautiously. Overhead, there was another heavy crash. The sounds of combat continued, but there were footsteps clattering downstairs toward you. The vampire ducked behind the doorframe, hiding himself from view, ready to ambush anyone who came in.

“Watch out!” you cried, but the poor sonofabitch was already barreling through the door. Too fast for your blurred vision to follow, he ducked under the vampire’s axe as it swung, and spun around to stab the vampire with what looked like a syringe. The thing’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground. The new guy knelt next to it, examining the same tattoo you’d noticed, then grabbed the axe from where it had fallen and beheaded the vamp where it lay, as casually as if he’d been chopping a fucking onion.

“You okay?” he asked gruffly, wiping blood off the axe as he approached you.

“Not my best day,” you grimaced. “But I’m not dead, so there’s that I guess.”

“Dean,” he said. “Nice to meet you.” He sliced quickly through the zip ties.

“Y/N. Thank you.” You reached up to assess the damage to your head and grimaced. There was some nasty sort of gash at your hairline, and blood was still flowing freely from the slice on your neck.

“You gonna be okay?” Dean asked, studying you with bright green eyes. “How’d they get you, anyway?”

“M’fine.” You gritted your teeth and took a deep, steadying breath. “I was hunting them, they were hunting me. Stupid.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Hunting?”

“Following. Attempting to kill,” you snarked, but you regretted it immediately. This guy had 100% saved your life, wouldn’t hurt to be nice. “I didn’t mean...sorry. Blood loss isn’t helping my mood. A vampire killed my best friend, about a year ago. He had that mark, the same tattoo as the other guys, and I started trying to track the guy down. Except there’s more than one, I guess. Like a family. I’ve gotten six of them now, and I still can’t find the one I’m looking for. They’re sneaky fuckers.”

Dean barked out a quick laugh. “You got that right, sweetheart. They’re called the Nightguard. They’re more of a gang than a family, a whole network, and they’ve got a hold in a couple cities in the area. Got a witch or two working with them we think.” His head was cocked, listening for sounds of combat upstairs, but things had gone silent.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” you grumbled. No wonder it was taking you so long to track the one who’d gotten Jenna. And now if you wanted to do the damn thing right, you’d have to take them all out, make it a clean sweep...you suddenly realized that you were in far over your head. This whole thing seemed like way too much. All you wanted to do was get out of this fucking basement, get the blood off your clothes, and go to sleep.

“Sammy?” Dean shouted, in the general direction of the door. He leaned down to examine the cut on your neck, but you swatted him away.

“Coming,” you heard from upstairs.

“I’m fine, don’t fuss,” you mumbled, as Dean leaned in again with his jaw set stubbornly.

“That is so far from fine, sweetheart,” he said firmly. “Not to mention, you’re probably concussed. That’s a nasty-looking egg on your forehead. You’re coming with Sammy and me tonight.”

“Like fuck I am,” you snarled. “I have a med kit in my car, I can handle this myself. I’ve got a year of medical school under my belt and I am not a delicate fucking flower.” You stood, trying to prove to him that you were fine, but your vision immediately started to go dark around the edges. Dean caught you before you could fall, steadying you.

“You were saying?” he said smugly. _Dick._ “Where’s your car? We’ll drive you to our place.”

“Round the corner.” You surrendered. “Keys…” you fumbled in your pocket and handed them over. “It’s the ‘78 Firebird, and I swear if she gets a scratch on her I’ll destroy you.”

Dean grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I do appreciate a girl with a great car.”

“Dean?” someone called from the stairwell.

“Here,” he said. A tall man peered around the doorframe.

“Hey, is everybody-” He stopped, staring at you.

 _Those fucking eyes._ You shivered involuntarily, remembering the way his eyes had looked that night, pupils blown, dark with lust, then fluttering half-closed above you as he... _fuck._ It was Sam. _That_ Sam, the one who’d spent a night and the better part of a day making you scream, who’d done things to you you’d only ever fantasized about before or since, and who’d left without a word, slipping away when you finally drifted off to sleep. In spite of everything, the visceral rush of memories was making your skin tingle. Every part of your body wanted to be closer to him.

“Oh,” he said, looking just as shocked as you felt. His cheeks flooded a deep scarlet. The two of you stared at each other for a long moment.

“I-” you managed, but your vision was going black again, and your legs finally gave way completely.

Dean caught you again. “Whoa,” he said, and wrapped an arm around your waist. “We need to get you home. Sammy, can you get her car?”

Sam was still staring at you, mouth working silently. He looked almost scared, with those wide eyes, vulnerable and open, nothing like the aggressive man you’d met. You felt like you were choking.

Dean looked back and forth, eyebrows raised. “Do you two know each other?” he asked.

Before you could even think of a response, Sam was shaking his head. “No! No,” he said emphatically. It felt like a punch to the gut.

“Uh-huh,” Dean said, with a very obvious unspoken _Not gonna ask._ He tossed your keys to Sam. “Round the corner. Firebird.” Sam slipped away silently.

Tears were building behind your eyes now, and you were furious at yourself. Dean was staring at you, brow furrowed, obviously trying to figure out what had just happened.

“Can I just ride with you?” you asked, voice embarrassingly high. He nodded. He opened his mouth like he was about to press the issue, but shut it, mercifully, without another word.

“Let’s go,” he said, and helped steady you as you walked gingerly toward the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an angel and a few awkward moments.

You tossed and turned that night, in spite of the comfortable bed Dean had shown you to when you arrived at the bunker. You’d determined you weren’t concussed, luckily, but judging by the bruises beneath the gash on your forehead, you’d fallen pretty heavily when the vamps jumped you, and your entire upper body was feeling it. The cut on your neck wasn’t deep, and you’d bandaged it up neatly, but any amount of movement made it throb. Between that, the unfamiliar environment, and the whole Sam situation, sleep did not come easily. 

It wasn’t like you had pined after him, not in any romantic way. You’d known what it was from the start; he’d made it clear he wouldn’t stick around. But you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about him. He’d featured in every single fantasy you’d had since that night. If you ever needed to get off, you’d think about the filthy things he’d whispered in your ear, or the way he’d held you down…and maybe you knew you wouldn’t feature quite as prominently in  _ his _ fantasies, but he didn’t have to be so fucking adamant about denying that you’d ever met. 

Somewhere around 7am, the combination of pain, anger, and arousal got to be too much. You took a cold shower first, then re-dressed your head and neck and went in search of coffee. 

The bunker was pretty amazing, you had to admit, as you padded quietly down the hallway. Dean had told you the basics of its history, but the more you thought about it, the more curious you were about  _ their  _ history, how long they’d been doing this and what they’d seen along the way. 

You found the kitchen relatively easily, considering the size of the place. The battered coffee maker on the counter was the same one you had in your kitchen at home, and it was an oddly comforting thing, knowing exactly how to make your coffee just the way you wanted it. You dug grounds and filters out of a cabinet and had the pot brewing in no time. It was your favorite ritual, the same little routine every morning, and the tension started to bleed from your shoulders as the smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. 

Just as you were searching for sugar, Sam shuffled through the door, rubbing his eyes. “Coffee?” he asked blearily, and then froze when he noticed you. He was wearing pajama pants that were sitting low enough to show off his hipbones and the defined line of muscles just above them. You turned around abruptly to face the coffee pot again. 

“Just finished,” you said curtly, and busied yourself looking in another cabinet. 

“Up here,” he said. You shifted to give him space without looking up. He placed a jar on the counter in front of you, and you picked it up with trembling hands. You couldn’t tell whether you wanted to run away or kiss him. 

The silence stretched out between the two of you. You poured your coffee and handed him the pot, then scurried to the far side of the table and sat while he fixed his own mug. 

“So, I guess I should explain myself,” he said slowly. He leaned back against the counter. When he lifted the coffee mug to his lips, his biceps strained at the sleeves of his shirt. You hated yourself a little for noticing. 

“Nothing to explain,” you said quickly. He flinched visibly at your words, and ran a hand through his hair. 

“No, I mean-” he stammered. “I remember you, but...it wasn’t me. That wasn’t me.” 

_ What the fuck is that supposed to mean. _

“You seemed awfully cocky for someone who wasn’t used to doing that sort of thing,” you bit out. 

“No, that’s not what I meant. I wasn’t myself, at the time. I would never-” he let the word trail off. 

“Don’t try to pull this nice guy shit on me now,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You can’t exactly take something like that back.” He looked stricken, eyes wide and guilty. 

“Ah, caffeine,” said a gravelly new voice at the door. “Excellent.” An unfamiliar man marched into the room without giving you a second glance, and it wasn’t until he had poured his coffee, added entirely too much cream, and emptied something like half the sugar jar into his cup that he turned around to look at you. “Hello,” he said formally. “My name is Castiel.” 

You stared at him dumbly, still trying to process the conversation with Sam. “Y/N.” 

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Castiel said seriously. “Sam, I-” he stopped and looked around. “Am I interrupting something?” 

“Not at all,” you said coolly. Sam shook his head and walked out of the room without another word. 

“Sam looked upset,” Castiel observed, still in that same stiff tone. You raised one expressive eyebrow. “Then again, Sam often looks that way. I suppose he tends to bring it on himself.” You couldn’t help but smirk, and Castiel gave a little smile in return. “So, Y/N, what brings you here today?” 

“Well, Dean brought me here last night,” you said, not sure where to begin. 

“Ah, so you’re one of his...conquests,” Castiel nodded. 

You laughed. It sparked a rush of pain, and you stopped, holding a hand to the side of your neck. “No,” you grimaced. “I was hunting. They saved me. I was too hurt to drive myself home.” 

“I see. I wish I could help you with that,” Castiel said. “I could usually heal that sort of thing, but my powers aren’t quite working at the moment.” 

“Powers,” you said slowly. 

“Healing powers, yes.” He nodded, as if it was obvious. “I used to be an angel of the Lord. Now I’m just...me.” He shrugged, as if that was a normal statement. 

“You used to be an angel,” you repeated.  _ This whole thing gets weirder by the second _ . 

He nodded, smiling pleasantly. “Have you seen the whole bunker? It’s really a special place. There’s even a dungeon. Let me show you around.” 

You giggled and let him lead you from the kitchen. It wasn’t every day an angel offered to show you his dungeon, after all. 

It was a slow tour; you were still exhausted. Castiel was happy to let you take your time, though, resting frequently, and his strange, dry jokes managed to boost your mood and take your mind off the shit show of a conversation you’d had with Sam, at least for a while. The library lifted your spirits even further. You were ready to dive in and never leave, but you craned your neck too much looking up at the wall of books, and your cut started bleeding again. 

“I’m going to go bandage this up,” you said, wincing. 

“Do you need assistance? I may not have powers, but I know how to use peroxide,” Cas asked earnestly. 

You laughed. “I think I need a little more than peroxide, but thank you.” You made your way back to your room and dug through your backpack to find your med kit. Standing up again made your head spin, but you made it to the bathroom and managed to change the dressing. It required what seemed to be the last of your energy, and when you were done, you sank down heavily onto your bed and leaned back.  _ Just need to close my eyes for a second… _

_ Sam’s hands are snaking around from behind you. His fingers find your nipple and he pinches, just enough to start waking your body up again. You turn your head to muffle your moan in the soft hotel pillow and his hand heads south, spreading your legs, rolling you forward as he pushes into you. “Don’t fall asleep on me now, gorgeous,” he growls against your shoulder. His skin is dripping with sweat. He’s all you can smell, all you can feel, his hips are crushing you into the mattress with every long thrust, hot slick pressure dragging against swollen skin where he’s fucked you sore, and it hurts, even slow and lazy like this, it hurts and it feels so perfect and you need more… _

You woke up sweaty and overheated, gasping into the mattress. Your fingers were down your pants and on your clit before you could think better of it, or remember how angry you were at Sam. Instead, you remembered how he’d felt that time, when he shifted you onto your stomach, pinned your wrists over your head with one hand, and fucked you from behind til you screamed, that perfect cock splitting you open,  _ so fucking good, Sam, just like that.. _ .

You came in seconds, biting down on the comforter to silence yourself. 

Good thing you had, too, because then you heard voices in the hallway; Sam and Dean, just loud enough for you to catch the occasional fragment of a sentence. 

“...not fooling me, Sammy,” comes Dean’s low voice. 

“Fine. It was a couple years ago when I was, you know…” You wished he’d speak up. 

“And?” Dean snapped. 

“...one night in Boston, but I’m not sure if…” 

“For fuck’s sake,” Dean grumbled. There were a few more phrases you couldn’t make out, and then, “...Jekyll and Hyde crap.” 

“She obviously doesn’t want to talk to me, Dean, and I can’t say I blame her,” Sam said hotly. From the sound of it, they were right outside your door now. “Those memories aren’t exactly the most trustworthy, who knows what actually happened.” 

_ What the fuck _ . 

“Just sort it out, Sam, we’ve got work to do,” Dean said. You heard one set of footsteps retreating down the hallway, and then a knock on your door. 

“Come in,” you called sleepily, and when Dean came in, you stretched and looked around as if he’d woken you. 

“How you feeling?” Dean asked. “Any better?” 

“Much,” you smiled. “Took a nap.”  You hoped your features looked innocent; it felt like ‘just got off thinking about your brother’ was written in neon on your forehead. 

“Yeah, Cas told me he showed you around a bit. We were just talking about the case. Wanna come out and compare notes?” 

“Sure,” you said. “And then I should probably head home.” 

Dean’s eyebrows raised, but he didn’t say anything. You followed him down the hall to the main room, where Sam and Castiel were waiting around the table. Sam looked up and smiled cautiously when you walked in, but you pretended you hadn’t seen it. 

“Want to tell us what you know?” Dean asked, once you were settled at the head of the table. “Or how you got wrapped into this whole thing?” 

You nodded slowly, and cleared your throat. 

“Jenna...she was my best friend since the first week of college. We graduated from BU together. I went to Stanford for a year-” 

“Really?” Sam broke in. 

You glared at him. “Anyway. I finished my first year, and we were going to take this big summer road trip. Just the two of us, my car, from my folks’ place in Minneapolis, out to the Grand Canyon and then up the Pacific coast. We only made it a day. Stopped at this shithole of a bar a couple towns past Sioux Falls, real rural little place.” 

“So that’s how Jody found out about ‘em,” Dean muttered. 

“How do you know Jody?” you asked curiously. 

“Never mind, sweetheart, carry on.” 

“Stop interrupting me, then. So. Jenna met this guy she thought was cute. They were outside, having a cigarette, and her phone started ringing, so I brought it to her. She introduced him as Tyler. When I shook his hand I noticed the tattoo on his forearm...you know the one. An eye, with a flame inside the pupil. I went inside. She never came back in. I was surprised, ‘cause it wasn’t like her to leave like that, but I didn't think too much about it. I didn’t go to the police until the next morning, when I hadn’t heard from her.” 

“They ever find her?” Dean asked gruffly. 

You nodded. “Bled out. Two days later. The local deputy said animal attack, but that's bullshit. I had to go ID the body. There’s no way an animal did that. I kept pushing, kept asking questions, and then the Sioux Falls sheriff showed up…”

“Jody,” Dean and Sam said together. You nodded. 

“She told me the truth. I went home for a while, trying to go back to normal, I guess, but I couldn’t. I started looking for him. Jody turned me onto one lead when I called her, a guy with the same tattoo, but when we tracked him, it was in the wrong place; on his ankle, not his arm. I got sort of obsessed, I guess. Took some self-defense classes, read up on some mythology, figured it out as I went along. Learned about the other stuff that’s out there, too, at least some of it. I’ve gotten six of them, all scattered around the same general area. Omaha, Lincoln, one all the way out in Fort Collins.” 

Sam dug a map out of a pile of papers on the desk, circling each of the cities you’d named. “Anywhere else?” he asked. 

“North Platte. Two in Sioux City.” 

“And we’ve heard of a few more. Topeka, Salina, one up in Rapid City,” Dean said. “Plus the ones we knocked out last night in Wray.” Sam circled them all on the map and stared at it intently, brow furrowed. 

“What else do you know?” you asked.

“Almost nothing,” said Cas matter-of-factly. 

“We think they’re looking for something,” Sam said. He was scratching absentmindedly behind his ear with his pencil. 

“Well, I'll leave my number,” you said brusquely. “You can call me if you find anything.” 

“Uh, what now?” said Dean. “You are in no shape to be chasing these guys by yourself.” 

“I'll be fine.” You set your chin stubbornly. 

“Beg to differ, sweetheart. At the very least, let us help you. We do sorta know what we’re doing.” He looked so cocky you had a momentary urge to punch him, but you remembered the easy way he’d slung that axe. As annoying as it was, he had probably earned the right to be cocky. 

“They are experts,” Castiel chimed in. 

“He’s not wrong,” Sam said. He was still looking down at the map. “We have the resources, we have experience, we can help.” 

“This is my fight. I started this and I'm going to finish it,” you argued. 

“Fair enough.” Dean held out his hands as if to surrender. “All I’m saying is, this is a big job, and if you do want to finish it, you’ll have a much better shot with us on your side.” 

You looked from one to the next. Dean was smirking, as if he knew he’d already won, and Cas was smiling at you hopefully. Sam was still looking down at the map, fidgeting with his pencil. You looked up at the books, the weapons…the cut on your neck was still painful whenever you moved your head, and it was true, you just wanted to finish the thing. 

“Fine,” you sighed. “I guess I could use some help.” 

Sam looked up and gave you a crooked little half-smile, and something in your stomach fluttered. 

“Excellent,” Dean said, grinning. “Now, who’s hungry? Is it time for lunch yet?” 

“You just had breakfast, Dean,” Sam laughed. 

“Brunch then,” Dean said. “Cas, come help me in the kitchen, I think these two have something to talk about.” 

Cas looked from you to Sam and back again, obviously confused, and then said “Oh! Yes.” 

You glared at their retreating backs. You wanted to bolt, but he was right. If you were going to work with them, you should probably hear Sam out. 

“So here’s the funny thing,” Sam said slowly. “When I met you, I sorta... didn’t have a soul.” 

You were so surprised you couldn’t answer for a long moment. Sam tucked his hair behind his ears and licked his lips. 

“You didn’t have a soul,” you repeated. Before you could help it, you giggled, and suddenly you couldn’t contain yourself. You laughed until you were snorting. 

Sam watched you shyly, biting at his lip, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That’s not the reaction I was expecting.” 

“Sorry, I've heard a lot of excuses from guys about why they didn’t call, but that takes the cake.” You tried to catch your breath. “Of all the fucking things.” 

“It’s true,” Sam laughed nervously. “And I promise you it’s not the weirdest thing that’s happened to me, either.” 

“I sorta figured that when an angel started telling me stories about you. Former angel, I mean. He didn’t mention that though,” you said, looking at him incredulously. “You’re serious?” 

He nodded. “It’s a long story, but yeah. I didn’t have a soul. I didn’t have any empathy. No fear, no guilt. I just did whatever I wanted, basically. I can remember most of what happened, but some of it is a little...skewed. Like, I remember, but I’m not sure I remember it the same way you do. Y’know?”

“Huh,” you said. You were having a hard time looking at him again, and you rubbed your thumb over the grain of the table. You’d already accepted the existence of vampires, demons, and now angels, so the idea of someone walking around without their soul made a very strange sort of sense, but it was still going to take you a minute to process. 

“You looked scared, when you saw me,” Sam said slowly. “Did I...do anything? Push you into anything that, you know, you didn’t want to do?” 

You were so surprised you looked up and met his eyes. He looked absolutely terrified, but you couldn’t help it; you giggled again. His eyebrows skyrocketed up toward his hairline. 

“No, Sam,” you said. You felt your entire face go hot. “Believe me, I was very, um, enthusiastic. About all of it.” You looked down at your hands. “I was just shocked. I'd thought about you so much, and then…” You cut yourself off, mortified.  _ You did not just admit that out loud. Holy shit.  _

“Oh,” Sam said. He ducked his head and his hair fell over his face, but you could see him grinning behind it. 

“Shut up,” you blurted out, and covered your face with your hands. “Oh my god.” 

“No, it’s...that’s good,” Sam laughed. He was definitely blushing. “I mean, I’m glad it wasn’t...a bad experience. Cause I don’t remember it being, um...bad. At all.” 

“Good. That’s good,” you said. You were pretty sure you could’ve fried an egg on your cheeks. 

“So,” Sam said. “Anyway. Brunch?” His eyes were sparkling as he smiled at you. 

_ Trouble. So much trouble.  _


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are some naughty dreams.

It didn’t take long for you to decide that you needed to fuck Sam Winchester again. 

After that first morning in the bunker, you thought everything was going to be okay. You would keep it professional, keep your distance, get it done and get away. You ate waffles with Dean and Cas, and then you all went back to the library together. You spent the afternoon researching and strategizing, you ate dinner, and you went to bed early. Things would be strictly business. Easy. 

Maybe it would’ve been, if not for the dreams. Rational, capable, professional you was completely prepared to act like nothing had ever happened, but your subconscious had other plans. It was like some sneaky part of your brain had reawakened after a long year of being too busy for sex, and now all you could see when you closed your eyes at night was vivid, full-color, HD flashbacks to your night with Sam. 

The second night you stayed at the bunker, it was Sam’s hands on your ass, lifting you easily, slamming you down onto his cock over, and over, and over again, while all you could do was wrap your legs around his waist and gasp his name.

Night Three: Sam’s head thrown back, long neck exposed, hands tangled in your hair.

Night Four: Sam’s back in the mirror, muscles rippling and bunching as he fucked you against the dresser, and you could see your hands dragging down his back, nails leaving red welts down his skin, and your own face staring back at you over his shoulder, mouth open and begging and wanton, completely undone.

It was maddening. 

If seeing Sam in your dreams was bad, seeing him in person was even worse. The morning after waking from that last little vignette, taking care of business, and padding grumpily to the kitchen, you found Sam standing there without a shirt, flipping pancakes, those same glorious muscles on full display. You opened and closed your mouth a couple times, like a fucking fish out of water, before you could clear your throat to announce your presence. 

“Oh!” he said, turning to you, and yup, there was that little trail of hair heading south,  _ goddammit _ . “Coffee’s there. Lemme go, um, put a shirt on, I didn’t think you’d be up so early. Watch the pancakes.”  

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” you joked, but you were incredibly grateful when he handed you the spatula and left, looking almost as flustered as you felt. 

Then there was the training debacle. Dean had offered to help you, while you were there, and teach you some new moves. Your hunting had always been based on brains, not brawn; you’d trap the vampire, or ambush them quickly, but you’d never engaged in any sort of extended hand-to-hand combat. Dean started working with you in the afternoons, showing you how to punch, how to really put your weight behind your weapon, where to hit to cause the most pain with the least amount of effort. Dean, even with his pouty lips and ridiculous cheekbones, did not have the same overwhelming, magnetic pull on you that his brother did, and training with him was fun. You were never going to be an Ultimate Fighting champ, but you were quick, and with Dean’s help you were learning fast. 

One afternoon, about five days in, Dean was showing you how to escape from some sort of fancy wrestling grip when Sam walked in. 

“Somebody asking for you,” he said, extending a phone toward his brother. Dean grabbed it and headed out to the hallway. 

“Show her the twist thing, will ya?” he said, over his shoulder. 

“Right,” Sam said, tucking his hair behind his ears. You’d figured out quickly that the motion meant he was nervous. 

“Scared, Winchester?” you teased, bouncing back and forth on the balls of your feet and waving your fists at him. 

“Not if that’s how you punch,” Sam laughed, and moved in close to trap you under his arm. 

_ Professional. Calm. I am stronger than my vagina.  _

The first time was fine, although you couldn’t quite wriggle out of his grasp. He gave you some pointers and motioned for you to move in again. The second time, though, you shifted your weight wrong and tripped yourself, and even though you took him down with you, he twisted in some graceful catlike way and caught himself before he hit the ground. He landed with one hand braced on either side of your head, body poised over yours. His arms were caging you in, you couldn’t move without bringing some part of your body in contact with his, and all of a sudden your skin was on fire and you couldn’t think straight. 

He was just laughing, hovering over you. “That’s one way to take ‘em down, I guess,” he said, and smiled as he met your eyes. He must’ve seen something in your face, then, because he went still for a second, expression unreadable, before rolling away from you and getting to his feet quickly. 

“I’m gonna check on the…thing,” he mumbled, flapping a hand in the air awkwardly, and practically sprinted out of the room. 

“What was that about,” Dean said suspiciously, coming in just as Sam left. 

“Your brother’s a fuckin’ weirdo, not my problem,” you snapped. Dean looked from you to the door and back again, eyebrows raised. Luckily, he knew when to keep his pretty mouth shut. 

Then there was the thing in the library, the next day. You were researching together in the library, and you found an illustration that looked like the Nightguard’s tattoo in an old book of spells. 

“Sam!” you said excitedly. He unfolded himself from his chair and walked around to your side of the table. When he leaned over your shoulder to look, you were surrounded by that warm, spicy  _ Sam _ smell, and suddenly your pulse was racing. 

“That might be it!” he said. “Does it say anything useful?” 

Your body was reacting so powerfully to the closeness of him that your brain seemed to stutter, and he had to say your name twice before you could answer. 

The next day, the three of you went to stake out a house you thought they might’ve been using as a home base. You were crouching behind a row of bushes, waiting to make sure the coast was clear before you got any closer. As you were about to peek out through the branches, Sam grabbed your wrist tightly, just in time; footsteps were coming around the corner. It was one of the vamps you’d been tracking, a close call, but all you cared about was the heat of his hand. 

Later, after the stakeout went more than a little awry, you had to stitch up a deep cut on his side while he sat awkwardly in the passenger seat of the Impala, parked in some lot god-knows-where, with Dean pacing and muttering in the background. You crouched next to him on the gritty pavement, balancing on the balls of your feet. The streetlamp cast strange shadows over his muscled stomach and all the scars that dotted his torso, and you wanted nothing more than to run your fingers over his body, map every inch of it. 

He took careful, shallow breaths as you drew the needle through his skin. In, out, tiny and neat, tie it off, and done. Your professors would’ve been proud. Then you realized that your hand was resting on his thigh. You were almost holding your breath when you looked up at him, but when he looked back down at you to whisper his thanks, you forgot how to breathe entirely. 

“Guys?” Dean barked. You were so startled you fell over, and Dean didn’t stop laughing about it until you punched his leg, right in one of the sensitive spots he’d shown you. 

The worst part? If it weren’t for your body’s annoyingly inappropriate responses to Sam, this would’ve been the happiest, easiest week you’d had since Jenna died. Being alone had become your default state, but being around people again was, undeniably, nice. Especially these people. 

Dean didn’t act surprised when you asked for shooting lessons, or when you kicked their asses at Texas Hold ‘Em, or when you offered to help him work on Baby...and maybe you’d gotten a little rough around the edges, this last year, but he treated it as something to be proud of. He didn’t treat you like an amateur, and best of all, he didn’t ask questions you didn’t want to answer.

On the fifth or sixth night, in an effort to avoid any sort of dreams, you had stayed up with Dean and drank too much whiskey while he told you some of his favorite hunting stories. His eyes crinkled at the corners whenever he mentioned his dad, Sam, or Cas. Once you were sufficiently tanked, he made the two of you double bacon cheeseburgers, and high-fived you when you ate yours even faster than he did. When you staggered out of your chair, ready to pass out, he wrapped you in a massive bear hug, and when you staggered back into the kitchen in the morning feeling like death, he was waiting with an alka-seltzer and a plate of bacon. 

“Much prettier than Death, too,” he had assured you, with a mouth full of eggs. 

Castiel, on the other hand, was the human equivalent of a teddy bear. Being around him made the whole world seem a little brighter. 

“How are you so happy, Cas?” you asked him one day, over a game of Monopoly that was slowly destroying your will to live. 

“What do you mean?” he frowned, looking at you intently, as always, with those deep blue eyes. 

You fiddled with your stack of play-money and struggled to find the right words. “You’ve seen some shit.” 

“Yes,” Cas nodded. “I suppose I have seen some...interesting things.” 

“No, I mean, you’ve seen some really ridiculously shitty things. You’ve done some shit I don’t think I could handle.” 

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked. 

“Like, the stuff that happened once you turned human. Being homeless, having to start with absolutely nothing.” The thought of Castiel going hungry broke your heart more than you could express. 

“That was difficult at times, yes,” he nodded. 

“And then before that. You saw, like, millennia of people being awful to each other. Angels, too. Why aren’t you more...pissed? I don't  think I could get over it, seeing what you’ve seen. And now you’re stuck in a human body, without your powers, and you can’t even do anything about it.” 

He shrugged. “While being a human has its downsides, I’ve been enjoying the new perspective. Needing to sleep is time-consuming, but on the other hand, food can be a wonderful experience. And even without my powers, I can make my own choices. I like that. It may seem small, but after millennia of watching humans make choices, I am sure that it is more important than it feels.” He smiled at you. You rolled your eyes at the optimism, but you couldn’t help but smile back. He had a way of cutting things down to their simplest truth that made the world seem so much less complicated. 

And you enjoyed Sam’s company, too; maybe that was part of the problem. You had more in common than Stanford, you found out quickly. You shared a deep and abiding passion for Harry Potter, but also a love of mythology, anthropology, and quirky little bits of history. The two of you could, and did, go back and forth for hours exchanging tidbits of useless information, talking about your favorite fucked-up Roman legends, or just reading quietly together. 

“Have you seen Hedwig and the Angry Inch,” you asked absentmindedly, flicking through a massive old book about ancient Mesopotamia. 

Sam grinned. “Don’t tell Dean, but once I went to a midnight showing of it dressed in drag.” 

“You have got to be fucking with me.” You tried, and failed, to imagine it.  

“Don’t make that face at me. Are you about to tell me about the Origin of Love story?” 

“Guilty,” you laughed. “I had a feeling you’d like that. It’s one of my favorites. Jenna had a tattoo of the faces, you know, the drawing, on her arm. It’s how we became friends.” You tried to smile again, but it came out more like a grimace. You hadn’t meant to tell him that part. 

He found the song online, and both of you sat there, still and silent, while it played. He slumped in his chair with his head tilted back, staring at the ceiling. You pulled your feet up onto your chair and hugged your knees. 

“Thanks,” you whispered, when it was over. The two of you went back to your books, but you couldn’t shake off the gloominess that had snuck up on you. 

You caught Sam watching you, a little while later, and scowled at him. He grinned impishly and said, “I wore a feather boa.” You laughed so loudly Cas came in to make sure everything was okay. 

So...there were moments like that, too, and they were wonderful. Part of you wished you’d never slept with him. Maybe you could’ve been friends. 

When you got too close to him, though, you had that consuming, primal need to feel him against you, and it just made you irritable as all hell. You had gotten so good at being alone, ignoring the desire for physical contact, but your fucking pheromones were ruining everything. 

The night after the stakeout, Dean went out to “blow off steam,” but the rest of you stayed in with popcorn and “Roman Holiday.” You’d taken a punch to the ribs and a table leg to the back, and even the idea of playing pool had you wincing.  

It didn’t take long before you heard Castiel snoring from his armchair. His head drooped, jerked back up, and drooped again at a painful-looking angle. You took the pillow you’d been lying on and brought it over to him, easing it gently under his cheek. He snorted in his sleep, but didn’t wake up. 

Sam watched you from the couch, smiling. “You would’ve made a good doctor,” he said softly. 

“Maybe I will, someday,” you replied, trying to get comfortable again. The bruise across your shoulders made it painful to sit up straight. 

“Maybe.” He looked almost sad. “You’re good at this, too. Hunting. Sorta surprised me.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You bristled at the implication. He frowned at you, the thoughtful frown that made his forehead wrinkle, and tucked his hair behind his ears. You raised an eyebrow impatiently. 

“You were softer, when I met you,” he finally said. “Open. You’re different now. Sharper edges. It’s not a bad thing, I don’t mean it like that, it’s how all hunters are, but...it’s different. I didn’t expect it from you.” 

“You don’t know me,” you snapped. His jaw clenched, but he swallowed whatever he wanted to say and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. 

“I guess you’re right. I didn’t, and I don’t.” 

You watched the movie for a few minutes. The silence between you had gone frosty, and you couldn’t get comfortable. 

“Here,” Sam finally said. “Lean on me, if you want. I make a good pillow.” He was lifting his arm and smiling at you like it was a peace offering, and you were too sore to protest. You slumped gratefully against him, and next thing you knew, you woke up as the very last of the credits were rolling. 

His big hand was cupped around your shoulder, and his flannel shirt was soft against your cheek. Your first instinct was to nuzzle closer and wrap your arms around him. Then you remembered who you were cuddled up to. A little buzz of electricity sparked through your belly, and your skin felt too tight. 

You sat up. Sam was still awake, eyes fixed on you. 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he said quietly.  _ Those fucking eyes.  _ You wished he would stop looking at you like that, curious and searching, like he was putting together pieces of a puzzle. He made you feel like everything was off-kilter, somehow, like you were young and awkward again. 

You stood up abruptly. “‘Night, Sam,” you whispered, and walked toward your room. 

“Sweet dreams,” he replied. You could feel his eyes on you all the way down the hall. 

That night, you dreamed about him again, but this time everything was slowed down, hazy, like you were moving through water. He was kissing a trail down your neck, lips dragging sweetly over your skin, stopping to suck at your collarbone. When he slid inside you it was gentle, almost reverent, and instead of pinning your wrist to the mattress he held your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. 

You woke up with your heart pounding.  _ That was a new one _ . Apparently your subconscious was all out of flashback scenes, and was inventing some new ways to torture you. 

To be fair, you rationalized, you’d been in a year-long dry spell. Sam was the last great sex you’d had, and that was about two years ago, and it was only natural that your body was fixating on that little adventure. And now that he was in close proximity, or whatever, your hormones were kicking into overdrive. You just needed to get some, and then your skin would stop doing that annoying little fizzy thing whenever he was around. Maybe you’d go to a bar with Dean. He seemed like a good wingman. 

You got up and splashed some cold water on your face. In the little mirror over the sink, your reflection looked pale and tired. 

Sam had found you attractive once, right? So maybe he’d be down for another round, and you could just get it out of your system. There was no way he’d live up to your memories, but he definitely knew how to get the job done. You’d make it clear it was just a one-time thing. Just two friends helping each other out. 

And then maybe you could just feel like yourself around him, strong and confident again, instead of flustered and overheated and strange. 

_ I just need to fuck Sam. That’s all.  _


	5. Chapter 5

“Morning, darlin,” Dean grinned, passing you the coffee pot. “Get that to go, team meeting in the war room.” 

“Can’t it wait until after breakfast?” you grumbled.

He handed you a bagel. “We’re hitting the road after breakfast!” 

“Someone got laid last night,” you said, with the biggest eye-roll you could muster. “Did you sleep at all, Dean?” 

“Got a solid hour. You guys enjoy your chick flick? Braid each other’s hair?” He looked entirely too pleased with himself. 

“Fuck off. I am in no mood,” you said flatly. You drained half your cup of coffee in one go and topped it off. 

“I hope you and Sammy’s cycles haven’t synced up, I don’t think I could handle any more PMS right now.” Dean dodged your punch and you reluctantly followed him to the big table, where Cas and Sam were already waiting. 

“We got a call this morning,” Cas said, by way of a greeting. Sam smiled at you from across the table. You would’ve liked to smile back, but the caffeine hadn’t sufficiently kicked in yet. 

“A friend of ours up in South Dakota spotted a vamp last night,” Dean cut in. “He thinks it was one of ours, had a tattoo on the back of its neck. He followed it home, so we have an address.” 

“No disappearances reported in the town yet, so that’s good, means they’re just settling in,” Sam said, typing something into his laptop. “So...how do you feel about being vamp bait?” He looked at you cautiously. 

“This day gets better and better.” You almost gave him a death glare, but remembered your whole “get laid” plan and went for an exaggerated pout instead.  _ Shit, I am rusty at this _ . 

“Seriously? That easy?” Dean looked surprised. He got the death glare. 

“Watch who you’re calling easy, Mr. One Hour of Sleep. Yeah, as long as you guys are around. I trust you. Just need to make sure I have something nice to wear.” 

“They do seem to have a type,” Dean said. “The dumber-looking, the better. Maybe show off some cleavage. Just...don’t wear that.” You looked down at your favorite old Bright Eyes shirt and scowled. 

“Anyway,” Cas said. “The plan is to kidnap a vampire, bring him back, and torture him until we figure out what they’re up to.” 

“Excellent, just how I like to spend my Saturdays,” you smiled, matching his neutral tone. “Maybe we can go for ice cream after.” 

“I’m not coming with you,” he said, as glum as you’d ever seen him look. “I’ll be here, on research and phone duty. Enjoy the ice cream though.” You made a mental note to bring him multiple pints of Ben & Jerry’s. 

After breakfast, you all went your separate ways to pack and get ready. You were running extremely low on clean clothes, but when you dug around in the Firebird you found your tightest pair of skinny jeans, the ones you never wore because they basically cut off your circulation. You fished your tiny makeup bag out of the trunk. Dean, as it turned out, had a small box of things women had left in his possession, and he came in to hand you a tiny piece of black fabric he claimed was a shirt. 

“How did she just walk away without her shirt?” you asked incredulously. 

Dean smirked. “I have that effect on women. Also, she was wearing mine. I think she assumed I'd care enough to call and get it back.” 

It didn’t take you long to pack, since you had exactly one clean change of clothes left, but it did take awhile to get your eyeliner right, and even longer to work up the courage to leave the room in the skimpy top. By the time you made your way out to the war room, Sam, Dean, and Cas were already waiting. 

“Do I look trashy enough?” you mumbled, feeling entirely too exposed. Dean gave you a long wolf-whistle. Sam stared, smiling in a way that somehow made you feel even more exposed. 

“I like your boots,” he said finally. You looked down at your scuffed Doc Martens, then back up at him, and grimaced. He laughed a little and shrugged. “You look great, just...you don’t look like you.” 

“You look hot. I’d hit on you,” Dean broke in, saving you from having to think about Sam’s answer. “Let’s go.” You gave Cas a quick hug, shouldered your backpack, and headed for the door. 

Several coffee stops, one burger stop, three Led Zeppelin albums, and one long argument about Bob Seger later, you arrived at the address, a derelict house. The three of you watched from across the street. It didn’t take long before a man emerged from the front door. He looked around furtively before locking it behind him and getting into the battered junker that waited in the driveway. Dean followed him carefully to a run-down dive bar, and parked around the corner. 

“You ready, sweetheart?” he asked, turning around to look at you. Butterflies started crowding into your ribcage, but you nodded. “Tell me the plan again.” 

“I go in there,” you said. “I talk to the vamp, do the whole flirting thing, lead him this way.” 

“I’ll be waiting,” Dean said, low and reassuring. “Right at the end of that alley.” 

“I’m coming in with you,” Sam said. “I’ll keep an eye on you, make sure he doesn’t try anything funny.”

“Take this, just in case.” Dean passed you a capped syringe of dead man’s blood, and you tucked it in the outside pocket of your purse. You took a deep breath, hoping you didn’t look as nervous as you felt. “You got this.” He smiled at you as you adjusted your shirt and opened the door. 

“I’ll be right behind you,” Sam promised. You just squared your shoulders and started walking. 

The stares you got when you walked into the bar made your stomach churn. One man licked his lips, another looked you up and down and winked. It had been so long since you’d shown this much skin in public, you’d almost forgotten what it felt like. 

_ You’ve killed vampires. You can handle a couple assholes looking at you _ .  _ Focus on the fucking job. _

The thing was standing by the bar, surveying the room and nursing a beer. He was wearing Vans and had an eyebrow piercing, like some sort of skate-punk wannabe, and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. He stared as you approached, and you made a point of sticking out your ass when you leaned over the bar. 

“Let me buy you a drink,” the vampire said.  _ That was easy _ . 

You batted your eyelashes and smiled vacuously. “Sure thing,” you drawled. When he turned to order, you spotted the tattoo on the back of his neck. 

Over a Jameson and ginger, you asked the usual innocuous questions; work, fun, what’s your sign. His eyes slid to the left every time he lied. You’d think a vampire would have more practice with his poker face. Over his shoulder, you watched Sam shooting pool, and every so often he looked back at you, giving you the little half-smile that made his dimples flicker to life. 

When you twisted at your hair and tilted your head, exposing your neck, the vamp’s eyes flicked down to your bare skin.  _ Gotcha _ . “Want to get out of here?” you asked sweetly. 

As he paid, you leaned against the bar and studied Sam out of the corner of your eye. He had straightened up as soon as he saw the vampire gesture at the bartender, and now he was handing off his pool cue, getting ready to follow you. 

The vamp grazed a palm over your ass, smirking. “Ready?” 

You managed to bury your disgust and smile brightly back at him. Across the room you could see Sam’s jaw clench, his hands balling into fists. You let him lead you to the door and tried to fight the cold squirm of nerves in the base of your stomach. 

“My place is just a couple blocks this way,” you said, pointing into the dark alleyway. He wrapped an arm around you. It was hard not to recoil. Sure, he looked like a tool, and he was practically drooling, but he was a fucking vampire, and he was much, much stronger than you. You felt small and scared, and you hoped to hell Sam was close behind you. 

You’d barely made it ten steps, nowhere near where Dean said he’d be, when you felt him tugging at you. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you roughly into him, holding you close, forcing his mouth onto yours. Your whole body tensed, but you made yourself hold still, let him kiss you, while you frantically grabbed at your purse with your free hand. You couldn’t hear any footsteps. There was nobody approaching to help you. His tongue forced its way into your mouth. You felt his fangs click into place, pricking slightly where they caught on your lip. You fumbled blindly with the cap of the syringe, and just as he went for your neck, you plunged the needle into his leg. 

A split-second later, as his face froze with shock, Sam’s fist connected with his temple and he went down, hard. 

Sam was staring down at the vampire with his chest heaving. He looked dangerous in the sharp shadows, his lip curled back in a snarl, fist still clenched like he wanted to keep punching. Then he looked at you, your wide eyes, and all the anger drained out of him. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. You nodded, but your legs were shaking. You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his chest. “Hey,” he crooned softly, huge hands resting gently on your back. “Hey, it’s okay, I got you. I got you. You did it.” His mouth pressed into the top of your head, and his fingers rubbed circles into your shoulders. You let out a deep, shuddering breath against his strong chest and tried not to cry. 

“M’fine,” you mumbled and pulled away. “He just...got impatient.” You looked down at the ground, embarrassed by the tremor in your words.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice was wracked with guilt. “Some asshole tried to pick a fight when I was leaving, held me up. You were amazing. I can’t believe how calm you were.” 

A near-hysterical giggle escaped your lips. “I do not feel calm.” 

“Sam? Y/N?” Dean called as he came around the corner. “What the fuck?” 

“Vamp got grabby. She knocked him out like a pro,” Sam said. You wanted to bury your face in his chest again. The adrenaline surge had made your knees go all rubbery. 

“Shit, sweetheart,” Dean growled. 

“I’m fine,” you lied. “I  _ am _ a pro.” 

Dean hurried off to get the car, while Sam expertly bound the vamp’s hands and ankles. The thing was out cold, but Sam slipped a gag over its mouth and a blindfold over its eyes before throwing it over his shoulder effortlessly. Dean pulled up to the end of the alleyway and opened the trunk, checking that the coast was clear before gesturing to Sam, and they bundled it into the car, shoving a little to make it fit. You slipped into the backseat, the boys jumped in front, and you were off. 

It was too late to head home, so Dean pulled into the first seedy motel he could find. He parked at the edge of the lot, in the shadows, and while he was checking in, Sam opened the trunk and gave the vampire another shot of dead man’s blood. 

“What if it wakes up?” you asked dubiously. 

“I shot it up pretty heavily,” he said. His hand found yours and gave it a little squeeze, and you smiled down at the pavement. “Plus, I know how to tie a knot. He’s gagged and he’s definitely not going anywhere.” 

Dean had only gotten one room, and he looked apologetically back and forth between you and the two beds when you walked in. 

“I can take the floor if you want,” he said, but you could tell he really didn’t want you to say yes to that. 

“It’s okay, I’ll share with Sam,” you said. Dean raised a very expressive eyebrow and you tried to keep your face blank. Sam gave Dean a little smirk, which you figured was a good sign. “You snore,” you said defensively, avoiding eye contact with both of them, and you hurried into the bathroom for a shower. 

The water pressure was pitiful, but you got clean enough. More importantly, you shaved your legs. It had been a while. You slipped into the “pajamas” you’d brought, teeny-tiny yoga shorts and a paper-thin tank top, and scrutinized your reflection in the mirror. 

The two of them were still awake when you finished, Dean watching an old Western and drinking straight from the bottle, Sam reading. 

“Dude,” Dean said. “Not trying to be weird, but you should wear shorts more often.” He was grinning at you affectionately, without a hint of actual flirtatiousness, so you decided not to punch him. 

“Dude, these are literally the only clean clothes I own right now,” you grumbled, without any real bite. “Don’t be a perv.” 

“You heard her, Dean, stop being a perv,” Sam said, without looking up again. There was a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. 

“You have nice legs, it’s hard not to notice.” He winked at you, then kicked off his shoes and turned off the TV. He took one last swig from the half-empty bottle before setting it on the nightstand. 

You settled into bed next to Sam, making a point of keeping a respectable distance. “Sweet dreams, kids. Good hunting today,” you said, and curled up with your back to them. 

You closed your eyes. Dean was snoring within a few minutes, but Sam kept reading for maybe a half hour before you heard him mark his page carefully. Finally, the light clicked off. 

Slowly, as if you were half-asleep, you rolled over and wriggled close to him. You sighed contentedly and slipped an arm across his chest. 

His body tensed. Your heart was beating so loud you worried he could hear it. The thin cotton of his shirt was soft under your fingers. Nothing. 

_ Shit. _

Dean’s snores were deafening in the dark room. You waited. Sam was still, unnaturally so. 

_ Fuck. _

He probably thought you were pushy and weird.  _ Or he’s just not fucking interested. He didn’t have a soul when he met you. Probably didn’t have standards either. _ You disentangled yourself and rolled back over. Your cheeks felt hot. 

Sam let out a deep breath. The sheets rustled as he moved closer, and he wrapped an arm carefully around you, pulling you in close. “You want to cuddle or not?” he said, so quiet it was barely a whisper. You relaxed, letting yourself lean back against him. His breathing slowed within minutes, but it took a while for you to fall asleep. You laid awake for at least an hour, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, the soft pressure of his massive arm across you, and taking in the smell of his skin.

_ His hands grip your ass as you ride him, trying to pull you closer, almost tight enough to hurt. He throws his head back and cries out, snapping his hips up to meet yours like he can’t help himself, and when he says your name it’s a breathy little pant… _

He whispered your name again, and you woke all at once with your skin on fire and your clit throbbing. You couldn’t help but grind back against him, gasping, and it wasn’t just you, thank god, because he was hard, hard and rubbing desperately against your ass, his fingers gripping your hipbones tight enough to bruise. 

“Sam,” you said, strangled and soft. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, and froze. You were shaking with the effort of keeping your body still, and it almost hurt how much you wanted him to touch you. 

Dean snorted in his sleep from the other bed, and the spell was broken. Sam let out his breath in a long hiss, and before you could protest, he pulled away. Without a word, he padded to the bathroom and shut the door quietly. The shower sputtered on. You were left clenching your thighs together, taking deep breaths, and trying to slow your racing heartbeat. 


	6. Chapter 6

By the time the three of you had packed up and gotten back into the Impala, it was clear that Sam was avoiding eye contact with you, and it was pissing you off. The frustrated ache between your legs was not helping. Both of you were monosyllabic at breakfast, and Dean quickly gave up trying to make conversation. It was a long-ass day.    


“Finally,” you muttered, when Dean parked the Impala in front of the bunker. It was barely five o’clock, but you were ready for a bath and bed. Then you remembered the vampire in the trunk. 

The thing wriggled when Sam slung it over his shoulder, but the knots had held. You trailed reluctantly behind the boys as they led the way inside. 

“Honey, we’re home,” Dean yelled. Castiel emerged from the kitchen. 

“Excellent,” he said briskly. “I take it the trip went well?” 

“I forgot your ice cream, Cas. I owe you one,” you apologized, giving him a hug as he joined the motley mini-parade down to the dungeon. 

Sam and Dean handcuffed the vampire and chained it to a chair, and Sam removed the blindfold and gag. 

“Okay, Good Charlotte, start talking,” Dean growled. The vampire curled its lip at him and looked around the room. 

“Stupid slut,” it hissed when it saw you. 

“Grab-assing douche canoe,” you replied coolly. It spat in your direction. You rolled your eyes and slipped your favorite thin knife from your boot. “Look, asshole, I am not in the mood.” 

“And even her best moods are pretty bitchy,” Dean added. “Talk. What’s with the tattoo?” He pressed his knife into the thin skin below the vampire’s ear until blood started to well up. 

“Fine!” it howled. It looked almost comically frightened. 

“Wuss,” you muttered. Sam looked at you for the first time all day. He was clearly trying not to laugh. 

“It’s a sigil,” the vampire said. 

“No shit. Why is it tattooed into every one of you fuckers?” Dean dragged the tip of his knife down “Good Charlotte’s” cheek. 

“When the witches cast their spell, every one of us with this brand gets the mojo,” the vampire said. Dean dug in with the knife again and it winced. “Jesus, I’m fuckin’ talking! There’s a book. We’re looking for a book, a big fancy book the witches want.” 

“What witches?” Sam asked, brow furrowed. 

“And why?” you added. 

“I don’t know the chick’s name. Skinny pale thing, black hair, came to the leader of my nest and talked to him, and he inked it on all of us the next day.” 

“Can vampires get hepatitis?” you wondered out loud. Sam snorted. 

“So the spell, it’s in this book?” Cas asked. 

“Yeah.” The vampire nodded. “Except they don’t know where the book is. Last anyone knew it was in Kansas, but it got stolen from their coven years ago. But we’re gonna find it, and when we do…” 

“...mojo.” Dean was frowning. “What sort of mojo?” 

“Power,” the vampire said. “Speed, strength. Sunlight won’t hurt us. And all of us who are looking, we all get it. Hundreds of us, maybe more, I’m not sure.” 

“And then we have a bunch of juiced-up monsters on our hands,” Sam said, grimacing. 

“That’s not good,” Cas stated emphatically. The vampire grinned. 

“So what do the witches want?” Sam asked. “I mean, there’s got to be something else they want in that book.” 

“No idea.” 

It didn’t seem to know anything else, not even when Dean started in with the knife again, so Sam re-tied the gag and blindfold, and you all headed upstairs for dinner. Over pasta and wine, you tried to decide what your next step should be. 

“What I can’t figure out,” Sam said slowly, “is why the witches are working with the vampires in the first place. I mean, why bother having someone else do their dirty work? Wouldn’t they be able to find the book better with magic? Unless it’s warded, or something is getting in their way…” 

“Cursed?” you offered. “If another coven stole it and hexed it? The next person outside the coven to touch it would be fucked, so they want a buffer.” 

“Doesn’t explain why they want so many vampires looking. It’d make more sense to keep a low profile, if they were trying to steal it back stealthily,” Cas pointed out. 

“They need extra manpower, for some reason,” Sam said. 

“Army,” Dean said around a mouthful of pasta. You looked at him dubiously. “Vampire army. The mark allows the witches to control ‘em. Bam, mind-controlled vampire army. Right?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you proudly. 

“Not a bad idea, actually,” Sam said. “I mean, who knows what the mark actually does? All we know is what the witches told them. No guarantee it’s true.” 

“Well, fantastic,” you sighed. “Now we have a million more questions than when we started.” 

“We’ll figure it out. We always do.” Cas smiled at you reassuringly. 

After dinner, Dean offered to teach Cas how to play Mario Kart, while Sam went to his room to read. You decided to finally tackle your laundry. 

The duffel of clothes you kept in your car was all dirty, but luckily there wasn’t too much of it. You rounded up an empty basket from the laundry room in the basement, and piled everything in. The clothes you were wearing were also filthy, and looking down at them gave you an idea. You changed into a relatively-clean tank top, without a bra, and a tiny pair of boyshorts, and balanced your laundry basket on your hip as you walked into the hallway. 

“Come in,” Sam called when you knocked. You stepped inside and closed the door behind you.  

“Hey,” you said softly. He looked up from his book, taking in the sight of you in nothing but your tank top and shorts. His jaw clenched. “I don’t have any clean clothes. Can I borrow a shirt while I do laundry?” He raised his eyebrows, but wordlessly got up, rifled through a drawer, and passed you a green plaid flannel shirt. 

You set down your laundry basket and turned your back to Sam before taking off your tank top, and you could feel him staring as you slipped his gigantic shirt on. It was long enough on you to cover most of your thighs. Slowly, with your back still turned, you tugged at the elastic of your boyshorts and let them fall to the ground. You knelt to pick them up and put them in your basket. 

“Thanks,” you said casually. You hefted the laundry basket onto your hip again and walked out the door without a backwards glance. As you walked downstairs, you couldn’t help but grin. Sam’s shirt was soft against your bare skin, and it smelled like him, and as you sorted your laundry, you wondered what he was thinking. 

You had just closed the washing machine when you heard his voice behind you. “What are you doing?” he asked quietly. 

You turned to face him, trying to look innocent. “Doing laundry,” you said. It came out much breathier than you’d intended. He tilted his head. His jaw was working again, the muscles in his cheeks clenching and unclenching as he stared at you. 

“You know what I mean,” he whispered. Before you could answer, he had closed the distance between you in two quick steps, and his hands tangled in your hair as he leaned down to kiss you. His lips were soft, and he was holding back, being so much gentler than you knew he could’ve been. You leaned back, tilting your head to meet his mouth eagerly with your own, and his tongue darted out over your lower lip. Instead of the bruising force you remembered, he was kissing you with a sort of curiosity, exploring your mouth sweetly, learning the shape of your lips. 

He gripped your hips and lifted you easily, setting you on top of the washer, and then spread your knees apart so that he could stand between them. You squirmed forward, trying to press yourself even closer. You’d thought about him so much, dreamed about him, imagined how it would feel to have him touching you again, and the reality of it was so much better. 

“I don’t. Think. You understand,” he breathed, between little nips at your neck. “How you look, right now.” His hands slipped under the flannel, kneading at your breasts, caressing the tender skin below your hipbones, and your skin tingled wherever he touched. The pad of his thumb grazed over your pussy and you whimpered into his mouth. He did it again, the slightest ghost of a touch, but it was enough to send a pulse of heat through your whole body. 

He stepped back abruptly, and you imagined what he was seeing as he looked at you: your disheveled hair, your lips red and swollen, and his shirt riding up on your thighs. His eyes lingered there, between your legs, on your naked skin. You hooked a finger into his belt loop and yanked him close again. 

“Touch me,” you whispered. He was kissing you forcefully now, pressing his body against yours. Your legs trembled when he reached between you and teased at your entrance. He slipped one finger inside you slowly, then slid it back up, slick, to trace around your clit. You tried to lean into it, but he kept his touch light, barely there, just enough to fill your body with that low, sweet burn. You couldn’t help but whine. 

“We should...bed. My room,” he stuttered into your ear, and it was some comfort to hear the hitch in his voice. At least you weren’t the only one having trouble controlling yourself. You ran your hands up his arms, squeezing at his biceps, and rested your forehead on his shoulder. He let out a deep, shuddering breath. “Bed,” he said again, louder. 

You slid down from the washing machine and tried to pull the shirt down. Sam was adjusting himself sheepishly, looking at you sideways, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“What’s so funny?” he asked. 

“I forgot something,” you said, and turned around to turn on the washing machine. Sam grinned. 

He led the way upstairs, taking them two at a time, then peered out the door gingerly before giving you the all-clear. You darted out behind him, saying a silent prayer that Dean wouldn’t show his face. 

Sam was laughing breathlessly when he closed the door behind you. “I can't remember the last time I had to sneak a girl into my room.” 

You felt shy, suddenly. In all your memories, he was dark, intense, predatory...he’d played you like an instrument, precise and practiced. Now, it was  _ Sam _ looking at you. His eyes were sparkling, and he was tucking his hair behind his ears hesitantly, smiling like he didn't quite know what to do next. 

“Don’t get all coy on me now,” you teased.  

“You look good in that shirt,” he said, grinning, and then he was kissing you again,  _ finally _ . You fisted your hands in the front of his shirt and tugged him over to the bed, letting yourself fall back onto it, and he lowered himself down gently on top of you. The stubble on his jaw was rough against your skin as he kissed down your neck. Then he sucked a bruise into your collarbone, and the gasp you let out made him roll his hips into yours, and you pulled at his shirt, tugging at it impatiently, needing to feel his skin against yours, needing him inside you  _ five fucking minutes ago _ . 

He sat up to take the shirt off while you pulled at his belt clumsily, and then he almost fell over trying to get his boxers off. You almost laughed, but then he was pushing you back onto the mattress with one hand, a wicked gleam in his eyes, and your laugh turned into a long, rough moan when he lowered his head between your legs and flattened his tongue over your clit. 

“Jesus, Sam,” you sighed. He looked up at you, eyes dark, smiling,  _ those fucking dimples _ , and then he settled down between your spread legs and began to eat you out in earnest. At first it was like he was studying you, mapping out every inch of you with his tongue, careful and controlled. You tangled your hands in his hair and looked down at him, and you could see the corner of his smile against your skin. He slid his hands under your ass to pull you closer, tilting your hips up so that he could slide his tongue into you, and started sucking, licking hungrily, fucking _ devouring _ you, moaning against you like he couldn’t get enough, and you closed your eyes and let yourself get lost in it. Then he did something swirly against your clit that made you cry out and buck up against him. He repeated the motion, faster, again,  _ again _ . Your body tensed, and just as your legs started to shake, he slipped two fingers inside you, rubbing at your g-spot while you shuddered helplessly through wave after wave of intense pleasure. 

“God, you look good like this,” Sam whispered, his breath tickling your thigh. 

“Look who’s talking,” you said hazily. His fingers were still inside you, scissoring and stroking, sending little shivers through your sensitive pussy, and he was biting at his swollen lower lip, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes. He didn’t seem to be in any sort of hurry. You relaxed into his touch, letting him work you open with those incredibly long, graceful fingers, until the sensitivity had passed and you were arching into it, whimpering, ready for more. 

Still, Sam was taking his time. He pressed a kiss into your hipbone, then dragged his mouth slowly up your belly, still teasing at your slick cunt with one hand. He mouthed at your nipple through the fabric of his shirt, then ran his teeth over it gently. You fumbled at the buttons and wriggled out of the flannel, finally, and gasped when he repeated the movement on your bare skin. You ran your hands over every part of him you could reach, through his hair, down his arms, trying to pull him closer, until he finally kissed his way up to your mouth again and pressed his hips down into yours. He was rock hard, and he let out a little huff of breath when you slipped a hand down to palm at him. 

You shoved clumsily at his shoulder until he rolled over onto his back, and wasted no time, licking a long stripe up his thick cock and swirling your tongue over the head until he gasped out your name. He was silky and hot on your tongue, and you sucked him down quickly, sloppily, bobbing your head just a few times before straddling him eagerly. His hands were twisted in the sheet, muscled chest heaving as he watched you. 

You wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and sank down onto him slowly, inch by inch. The stretch of him, the burn and ache, set every single one of your nerve endings on fire. It was too much, at first, and you had to pause, once he was buried all the way inside you, to adjust. 

“Shit,” Sam gasped. “Oh, fuck, you feel good…” His hands started roaming over your skin, pinching at a nipple, squeezing at your hips, and then his huge palms cupped around your ass and he rocked his hips up into yours, grinding that perfect cock right into your g-spot. Your vision went white for a moment and you let out a strangled moan, and then you were grinding your pussy against him helplessly, slamming your hips down until all you could feel was the sweet, burning friction of him filling you up. 

It was intense, almost overwhelming, and you trembled on the edge,  _ so fucking close _ ...Sam wrapped one arm around you, holding you against him, and flipped you onto your back, and before you could process what was happening he was thrusting into you at an angle that made your eyes roll back into your head, impossibly deep. 

It wasn’t just that he was almost too big, although that helped. It was the way he moved, fluid and powerful, so that every thrust didn’t just hit that sweet spot inside of you, it sparked a rolling wave of friction that spread through your entire body and made you tremble. You wrapped your legs around him and lost yourself in the sensation. It didn’t take long before you could feel another orgasm building, heat pooling through your muscles, and then everything went white. His hips snapped forward once more, stuttering against you when your pussy clenched around him, and he cried out once, wild and wordless, before going still, cock pulsing inside you as he came. 

The hot, heavy weight of him was almost too much on top of you, but you didn’t want him to move. You trailed your fingers gently down the sweat-slick expanse of his back, tracing patterns into his skin. He nuzzled into the damp hair at your temple. 

“I don’t-” you started, without really knowing what you wanted to say. 

“Shhh,” he said, and kissed you softly. “Not now.” 


	7. Chapter 7

The first thing you noticed in the morning, even before you opened your eyes, was that you were happy. It had been a long, long time since you woke up happy. You stretched languorously, basking in the feeling. _ Must’ve been a good dream.  _

And then you realized you were naked, and it all came flooding back. That wasn’t a dream.  You smiled into the pillow and inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of sweat and sex, relishing the slight soreness between your legs. 

“Morning,” you heard. You rolled over. Sam was already fully dressed, sitting up next to you in bed with a huge book spread open in his lap. 

“Hi,” you said, with what must’ve been a pretty goofy-looking smile spreading over your face.

“Um...there’s coffee,” he said. He pointed to the table next to your side of the bed. “Bagel, too. And I realized that you never switched your clothes over, so I went and put them in the dryer this morning before I went for my jog, and they’re over there.” He was watching you warily, as if he was waiting for you to run away. 

There was definitely a part of your brain that was screaming  _ get the fuck out of here _ . But a larger part of you was warm, and comfortable, and satisfied, and couldn’t stop staring at the little flecks of gold in his eyes, and you decided to let yourself just be happy for a little while. 

The coffee was still hot, and it was the perfect amount of sweet. You settled back against the headboard, holding it carefully and taking tiny blissful sips. 

“Whatcha working on?” you asked, peering at the text on Sam’s lap. 

“The spellbook you were looking at in the library. I couldn’t remember what it said, exactly, but I was wondering if it’d make sense now that we have more information. Where was that passage, do you remember?” 

“Near the back. There was a chapter about modifying rituals.” You scooted in closer while he flipped through the pages. He slipped his free arm around you, absentmindedly rubbing circles into your bare shoulder with his thumb. “Somewhere in there,” you said, pointing at a familiar illustration. 

Sam skimmed through until he found the right lines. “Certain sigils allow the magic user to perform targeted spells from a distance. Some of these, such as an eye with a flaming pupil, can channel immensely powerful dark energies, such as those for ritual sacrifices, but these spells are often volatile and should be attempted by only the most experienced witches. For the spells within this book, the following should suffice...huh.” He was frowning at the page intently. “That’s it.” 

“Well, now that we know how the witches are involved, that makes a lot more sense,” you pointed out. 

“Sure, but it’s still fishy. I mean, this is talking about ritual sacrifices. That’s pretty different than what the vamp was talking about, no matter how much power is being used.” He closed the book and set it off to the side of the bed before settling back in. The movement pulled the comforter away from your body, baring your chest, and he looked down at you with such a kid-on-Christmas expression that you had to giggle. 

“See something you like?” you asked playfully. He met your gaze, and the sudden intensity in his eyes made you blush. 

“Yes,” he said, all husky and sweet. A little shiver went through you. 

“Sammy?” came Dean’s shout from the hallway. You almost dropped your coffee mug. 

“Shit,” you whispered. 

“Be right there,” Sam called. It came out comically high and nervous. 

“Dude, I don’t even want to know why your voice is doing that,” Dean said. It sounded like he was right outside the door. “C’mon, let’s get moving.” 

His footsteps receded down the hallway. You hopped out of the bed and went over to your laundry basket, half-assedly trying to hide yourself with your hands. Sam had folded everything impeccably, of course. 

“Should we...talk?” Sam asked, as you fumbled with the button of your jeans. You made a face at him. He was studying you, head tilted, in that special Sam way that made you feel all too exposed. 

“Let’s just not,” you said. You straightened your shirt and took a deep breath. “Nothing to talk about, really. 

“Okay. Whatever you say,” he said, but he was smiling like he knew something you didn’t. “Ready to sneak around like high schoolers again?” 

He poked his head out into the hallway and flashed a thumbs-up. When you started to walk past him, he pressed you quickly against the doorframe and kissed you gently. Heat tingled through your skin. Before you could process enough to kiss him back, he had released you. You blinked at his back as he started to walk away. 

“What- what was that?” you stuttered. 

“Nothing we need to talk about,” he said sweetly, giving you a smirk over his shoulder. “Come on.” 

You followed him, trying to suppress a smile. 

Dean and Cas were waiting in the library; Cas was poring over a large book about vampires, and Dean was on his laptop. 

“Hey! Where ya been, Y/N?” Dean asked. “I went looking for you.” 

“I was doing laundry,” you said. He gave you a puzzled look. 

“But I-” 

“I thought of some more questions we should ask the vampire,” Sam interrupted hastily. “We should go talk to him some more.” 

“Yeah, same,” Dean said. “Our best bet’s to get ahold of this book before they do, so we need to learn more about it.” 

On the way down to the dungeon, Sam filled Dean and Cas in on what you’d read. Cas had the same reaction as Sam; he was convinced the witches must be lying. 

“That’s very different magic,” he said. “Sacrificial spells...that’s taking something away, channeling the energy out of it. It’s the complete opposite sort of spell than what would be required to give them additional powers. If that’s what the symbol is used for, the vampires are in for a very unfortunate surprise.” 

“You think the witches are going to sacrifice the vampires, for some reason?” you asked dubiously. “Why bother? Witches don’t usually seem to have a problem with using humans. Is there some reason they’d want vamp blood in particular?” 

“I guess we’d better figure that out,” Dean said. He opened the door. The vamp was still bound, and it didn’t seem happy about spending the whole night sitting in the chair. Its fangs slid into place the second it saw you, but it looked sallow and exhausted. 

“Okay, douchebag, we need a little more information,” you said. Dean put his knife to its throat again, and it snarled. 

“I want food,” it said piteously. It tried to give you puppy-dog eyes. You cringed. 

“Answers first. Where are other nests looking right now?” Dean asked. “Give us some names.” 

“South Dakota. Around where you got me. We think it’s somewhere near the Badlands.” It seemed too defeated to struggle. 

“When you say you’re looking...are you just, like, digging in random places?” you asked. “What’s the plan?” 

“We’re trying to track down the Kyleter family,” the vamp said, grimacing. “But they changed their name, somewhere down the line, to Kyle. Lot more common, that one. We’ve been going in and asking people, to start. Just asking if they’ve known anyone with that name, then going through graveyards...helluva lot of work.” 

“Kyleter,” Sam mused. “That sounds familiar.” 

“So the book is buried with one of the family members?” you asked. The vampire nodded. “And why aren’t the witches looking themselves? Why do they want your help?” 

“They can’t touch it,” the vamp said. “No human can. Some kinda hex. It’s warded, too, so they can’t use their magic.” 

“What’s the book you’re looking for?” Sam asked. “How will you know it when you see it?” 

Stubborn silence. Dean pressed the knife closer and raised his eyebrows. The thing flinched away. “Fine! If I tell you, will you feed me?” it pleaded. “I’ll draw it and everything. Promise.” 

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, and Dean nodded. Cas quickly ran to grab a piece of paper and a pen. When he returned, Sam undid the cuffs and stood right behind the vampire, pinning its left arm behind its back, while it drew. Dean snatched the paper as soon as it was done, and Sam re-cuffed it. 

You studied the mark. It was a triangle, with a spiral coming off of each corner. 

“It’s Celtic,” Cas muttered. He had gone slightly pale. 

“Celtic, that’s right,” the vampire said. “There’s more to the picture, all sorts of fancy lines around the outside, but that’s the center. Can I eat now?” He looked at you hungrily. 

“Get bent,” you told him. 

“I think we’ve got everything we need,” Dean said grimly. “Sammy, any more questions?” Sam shook his head. Dean pulled a machete from a shelf of tools by the wall, and lopped off the vamp’s head in one quick swing. 

“Pathetic excuse for a creature of the night,” Dean muttered. “I’ve met kittens with more backbone.” 

“I know what we’re dealing with,” Cas said hurriedly. “And it’s not good.” 


	8. Chapter 8

“Of course it’s not good,” Dean muttered. “When is it ever good?” 

“Have you ever heard of the Morrigan?” Cas asked. 

“Celtic goddess,” you said. “Goddess of war, right?” 

“Essentially, yes,” Cas said. “Battle, discord, and war. She collected souls from the battlefield, and could take the shape of a crow. I encountered her once, and it was extremely unpleasant. She was bound, hundreds of years ago...split into her three parts, each magically subdued and restrained. That book bears her mark, and any sort of spell that is associated with her has the potential to be incredibly destructive.” 

“Destructive like a bunch of super-juiced vampires?” Dean said skeptically. 

“Possibly. But my guess is that these witches have something worse in mind.”

“Like starting some sort of magical war,” you chipped in. 

“That’s very possible,” Cas said grimly. 

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Dean grumbled. He nudged the headless vampire with the toe of one boot. “Well, I’m going to deal with this mess, and then I’ll come help with the books.” 

Sam sat down at his laptop, while Cas fetched some history books and you went for the section on Celtic lore. It didn’t take long for you to find a small stack of books, and, for a while, the library was silent except for the tap-tapping of Sam’s keyboard. Dean rejoined you after awhile, and the four of you read quietly until Sam interrupted. 

“I found something about the Kyleters,” he said. He cleared his throat and continued. “Alice Kyleter was one of the first prominent witches in Ireland, and the first recorded who was sentenced to death for it. She was married four times, to four very wealthy men who all died, and the rumor was that she used magic to kill them. When she was accused, her servant testified that she had performed sacrifices at a crossroads to summon a demon. She was also accused of sleeping with a demon. She fled Ireland to avoid being burned at the stake.” 

You tuned out as Sam started listing Alice’s descendants and their various exploits once they got to America, and started flipping through your book again. 

_ Nothing, nothing, whole lotta nothing...wait. Fuck.  _

You read the passage you’d found carefully, then read it again. 

“Guys?” you said, and your voice was embarrassingly high-pitched. “I found something.” 

Sam stopped in the middle of his sentence and looked at you with his eyebrows raised. 

“ _ Thirteenth-century witch Alice Kyleter was a devotee of the Morrigan, and dedicated the later part of her life to finding a way to bring the deity back to power. She believed that she found a ritual to do so, but was never able to perform the spell, due to certain complications. For one, the goddess is too powerful to be contained by a single human vessel. Her three visages (Badb, Macha, and Anand) must each inhabit their own body. Secondly, the ritual involves an unprecedented amount of blood; not a large volume from one source, but rather, the blood of thousands of individuals, simultaneously. Kyleter believed that this bloodletting on a massive scale would mirror the traditional feeding grounds of the Morrigan, the battlefield, and restore her power.”  _

“Shit,” Dean muttered.

“There’s more.  _ Alice Kyleter recorded this ritual, as well as a collection of lore on the Morrigan, in a small black leather journal. It remained with her family for generations. One attempt to perform the spell has been recorded, at a site of mass slaughter during the first World War, but the witch in question neglected to find two additional vessels and the power involved caused her to immediately disintegrate. After this, the book went to the American branch of the Kyleter family, then called the Kyles, in South Dakota.”  _

“ _ Shit _ does seem to sum it up,” Cas said, when you finished. There was a long silence. 

“They are going to sacrifice the vampires,” Sam said, going pale. 

“But where are they going to find that many vampires? Sounds like the witches need thousands, and by that one’s estimate there were a few hundred looking,” Dean pointed out. 

There was a sickening swoop in your stomach. “When a vampire feeds…” 

“...that blood becomes part of it,” Sam finished. “For the purposes of a spell, vampire blood would act as a sort of compound, containing the blood of every human it’s fed on over the course of its life.” 

Everyone was silent as the ramifications of that sank in. 

“Shit,” Dean said again. 

“So they might already have enough vampires tattooed, to perform the ritual as soon as the book is found,” Cas said. 

“What if we let them?” Dean asked. “I mean, the book is hexed, right? So we can’t just go pick it up ourselves. If a whole lot of vampires get killed, that’s fine by me. And I know this whole goddess thing sounds intimidating, but we’ve taken out worse, right?” 

“Dean,” Cas sighed. “You know that I believe in you, but trust me when I say that this is not something you want to take on.” 

“How bad?” Sam asked. 

“She blinks and suddenly everyone within a ten-mile radius goes all finger-snapping and jazz hands at each other.” 

Dean and Sam gave Cas a puzzled look.    


“Did you just reference West Side Story?” you asked. The giggle that followed was more than a little hysterical. 

“I watched it the other day while you guys were away,” Cas said. “Bad things happen when the Morrigan appears. Trust me. We do not want those witches to complete that spell.” 

“I think our best option is just to start taking out vamps,” Sam said. “Get out there, target the nests, and see if we can get some more info on these witches while we’re at it.” 

“You’re right,” Dean said. “Maybe we can get enough to get in the witches’ way, give them a blood shortage, even if we can't get to the book first.” 

You set your jaw and nodded. “Let’s go kill some monsters.” 

It felt strange to be packing up again. There wasn’t much to pack, either; the small, plain room was tidy, and just a few of your possessions cluttered the bedside table. You loaded your clean laundry into your backpack and sank down onto the bed, panic starting to rise in your chest. 

_ Vampires, witches, goddesses...how in the hell did I get here?  _

It felt like centuries had passed since you first embarked on this whole stupid mission. Tears blurred your vision, and you felt frozen. All you could do was take deep, steadying breaths. 

Sam found you some time later. He didn’t say anything, just sat down next to you and waited. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, coming out of your trance. You wiped angrily at the tears that covered your cheeks. 

“You managed to take out six vamps by yourself after less than a year of hunting,” Sam pointed out. “If anyone can do this, it’s you.” He was smiling, dimples on full display. You wondered how red your eyes were. You buried your face in his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around you. “Look, I know this is overwhelming. This whole thing seems…” 

“Batshit insane,” you supplied, and he laughed. 

“Yes, that. But I promise you, we’ve done much worse, and we’re going to get this done.” 

You nodded slowly and sat up. “If you say so.” 

He hesitated for a moment as he leaned in, and you knew he was giving you a chance to pull away, but you didn’t want to. His hands cupped your cheeks as he kissed you. The reassuring warmth of him made it easier to breathe, and the panic subsided with each gentle brush of his lips. 

From the moment you’d met him, even that strange predatory soulless version of your Sam, he’d made you feel so damn  _ safe _ . 

“We should go,” he whispered against your neck. His thumb caressed your jaw. You nodded, reluctant to pull away, and he pressed one more lingering kiss to your lips. 

“Give me a second,” you said. He nodded and left, and the room seemed colder in his absence.  

You splashed some water on your face. As you frowned at your puffy eyes in the mirror, Dean walked in. He did a double take when he saw your expression. 

“You okay?” 

“Just having a moment,” you said. He nodded. 

“The key is not to think so much,” he told you. “If you start thinking about how fucking insane this plan is, you’ll lose it. Ready to go?” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” 

He led the way out to the car, and paused to lock the doors behind you. Cas was already waiting in the backseat, while Sam loaded a large stack of books into the front passenger seat. 

“Dork,” Dean said. 

“Jerk.” 

“Bitch.” 

Dean double-checked the weapon stash in the trunk, and you tossed your backpack in when he was done. You slid into the backseat and smiled at Cas. 

“On the road again,” he said softly. 

Baby’s rumble was low and soothing. You cracked open a window. The air was crisp and clear, and it smelled like fall. You inhaled deeply.  __

Cas fell asleep by the time you’d hit the highway. You watched Sam’s reflection in the mirror as he read, the little wrinkle between his eyes going creased and then smooth again as he made notes. 

“Funny thing is,” Dean started, turning down the volume on the cassette player for a moment. “I looked for you in the laundry room this morning, Y/N.” 

You cringed. Sam went red. 

“Shove it, Dean,” Sam said, without looking up, and Dean let out a laugh. 

“So, sweetheart, what are your plans after we deal with this mess?” he asked you lightly, watching you in the rearview mirror. You shrugged and looked down at your hands. 

“Haven’t thought about it,” you said quietly. When he realized that was all you had to say, Dean turned the music back up and drummed on the steering wheel. 

You stared out the window, watching rows of corn flicker by endlessly. 

_ After.  _ You couldn’t picture an “after.” Medical school, maybe...go back to classes, studying in the library, going to frat parties on the weekend. It seemed hollow, now. 

The panic that had gripped you earlier was gone, replaced by determination. When you looked around at Dean, Sam, and Castiel, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly grateful.  _ If I have to go up against this thing, at least I’m not doing it alone. _

Hunting was dangerous, but you had a plan, a  _ purpose _ , and more importantly, you had people you cared about. 

“After.”

  
_ After _ would mean saying goodbye to all this, but you couldn’t imagine that. You realized, suddenly, that there was nowhere else you’d rather be. 


	9. Chapter 9

It was getting late by the time you reached the house, the same one where you’d found the vamp you kidnapped. Dean parked the Impala down the street, out of sight, and under the cover of darkness the four of you surveyed the place. Luckily, while the front of the house was mostly open to the street, the sides and back of the yard were enclosed by tall, overgrown hedges, so you had plenty of cover from anyone watching within the house or from the neighbors’ houses. No need for the kids next door to witness any beheadings tonight.

Security had increased since the last time you’d been there; you spotted a guard peering through the front door, and two more lurking by the sunken entrance to the basement.

“If they have captives, that’s probably where they’re keeping ‘em,” Dean said, pointing.

“Basement first, then,” Sam said. “Do we have everything?”

You checked the little fanny pack that was stuffed with the essentials from your med kit, plus a couple syringes of dead man’s blood. You also had a wickedly sharp machete, and its weight was comforting.

“Here we go, then,” Dean said, and he led the way, treading carefully. Before you could follow, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Be careful?” Sam whispered hesitantly.

“It’s my middle name,” you deadpanned. He still looked nervous, so you flashed him what you hoped was a confident smile and turned to follow Dean and Cas.

Adrenaline began to flood your body, heightening your senses, making you acutely aware of the chilly air on your skin and the wet grass soaking the hem of your jeans. When you had all reached the back wall of the house, Dean paused, checking that everyone was ready again before darting around the corner.

From there, everything seemed to speed up. Dean took out one of the guards before it could make any noise, beheading it cleanly, but the other didn’t go down so easily; you caught a quick glimpse of its surprised face before it turned to run, shouting for help. Dean followed it halfway to the front door before he could tackle it.

“Somebody will have heard that,” Sam said, and slammed his weight against the rickety basement door until the hinges gave out. “Hurry.”

You heard a muffled yell from outside, but you rushed down the stairs. Sam shined a flashlight from over your shoulder, and you saw two figures in one corner of the dark room. One was tied to a chair, and the other was slumped in a heap on the ground.

“Can you get them out of here? Sounds like Dean and Cas need help,” Sam said. You nodded and he handed you the flashlight before running back out, taking the stairs two at a time. You took a shaky breath.

“Are you okay?” you called. No answer. The figure on the ground stirred, and as you approached, you heard a low groan from under a tangled mane of hair. It was a woman. She was wearing a long skirt, but it was torn, and you could see bloodstains spattered across it.

The woman covered her face, cowering away from the light. “Make it stop,” she hissed, and your stomach dropped.

“Did they make you feed?” you asked quietly. You lowered the flashlight for a moment, and as soon as the light was turned away, she looked up at you. Her pupils were dilated and you could see fangs. Her chin was covered with dried blood. She looked terrified, ready to bolt, and she was clearly in pain. You gritted your teeth.

“Okay, I’m going to help you,” you whispered. You set the machete carefully on the ground, trying not to make any sudden movements, and opened your fanny pack to find one of the syringes. “I’m going to inject you with this. It’ll help.” She watched warily, but she let you hold the needle to her arm. When she went still, her wide eyes remained fixed on you, staring as you beheaded her.

You shuddered and turned away. The other woman, tied to the chair, was young and dressed like she’d been out for drinks. She had a ragged-edged bite mark on her neck. You leaned down to feel her pulse, but her cool skin told you what you needed to know.

Too late. White-hot fury surged through you as you turned and walked away.

Sam almost collided with you as he ran around the corner. “You okay?” he asked, and you nodded tersely. Dean and Cas were right behind him.

“We got the guard, and another that came to help him,” Dean said. “There are more in the house. If they’ve got ears, they know we’re here. Everything okay downstairs?”

“One turned, one dead,” you said. Dean grimaced. “Let’s go.”

“Did you…”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

You were too angry to be afraid any more. The door was open, but as soon as you closed it quietly behind you, they were on you; two from one side and three from the other. Time seemed to go syrupy-slow for a moment. You got a vivid impression of a snarling female face, pale skinned and dark eyed, and then everything started moving much too fast. You were ducking and lunging, spinning out of the way of a knife, darting forward to swing with the machete, until one lucky blow found her neck.

Breathing hard, you took a quick look around. There was only one vamp left standing, and it had Dean by the neck, but as you watched, Sam snuck up behind it and stabbed it with a syringe. The vampire fell and Dean took a few deep, gasping breaths.

“Check the rest of the house?” Sam suggested.

Your chest was heaving. You looked down and noticed a shallow cut on your arm, but you couldn’t remember getting it. As you peered into the bedrooms and closets upstairs, your legs started to shake. It felt oddly good, though; you’d won, at least.

“We did well today,” Cas said softly, when everyone reconvened on the porch.

“I think we deserve a drink,” Dean said. You nodded emphatically.

“Might wanna change your shirt first,” you said. Dean looked down at his plaid shirt and raised his eyebrows at the large bloodstain on the front.

“That’s why we layer, darlin’,” he said with a grin. He took the shirt off and tied it around his waist. “Let’s go.”

Everyone was mostly quiet as you walked back down the block to where Baby was parked. Sam fell into step next to you and gave you a smile.

“You did good,” he said.

“What about the...the bodies? Downstairs?” you asked, the memory of the two women in the basement cutting through your adrenaline high.

“I’ll call the police as soon as we’re out of the way,” Sam said. Without looking at you, he reached out and gave your hand a quick squeeze.

You looked up at his profile, the sharp line of his jaw and the soft curve of his smile in the moonlight, and something in the vicinity of your heart did a backflip.

Dean drove until he found a bar. It was a big, rowdy one, but you managed to find a relatively quiet booth away from the action. It took about half a drink for Dean to pick his pool mark and take off to make some money, and then three more before Cas got waylaid by a bachelorette party on his way back from the bathroom. You could see him getting flustered from halfway across the room.

“Should we rescue him?” you giggled, more than a little buzzed. Between the adrenaline and the whiskey, you felt giddy. It wasn’t a feeling you were used to.

“Nah,” Sam said. “I’m sure Dean will be happy to help him with that situation when his game is done. Which should be...yep, there it is.” You watched Dean sink the eight ball and collect his winnings from the side of the table. Sam was right; he made a beeline for Cas and his circle of admirers.

“Guess it’s just you and me, then,” you said. The way he was looking at you made you blush, and you fidgeted, tracing patterns in the condensation on your glass.

“Lucky me,” Sam said. He was grinning at you shyly, like he meant it. “One more?” You threw back the last sip of your drink and nodded.

It was hard not to watch him weave through the crowd. The way he moved still captivated you, the grace of it, no motion wasted, especially obvious when he was so surrounded by drunk people. Everyone just looked sloppy next to Sam. When he leaned on the bar to order, his eyes flicked back and forth, alert as always, but the rest of him was still and composed. The long lines of his back, the muscles under his button-down...

Gorgeous, you couldn’t help but think, and then, Goddammit.

It wasn’t that you couldn’t stop staring at Sam, you just...didn’t really want to.

One of the bachelorettes stopped him on his way back, tugging at the hem of his shirt and almost making him spill your drinks. You watched him shake his head at something she’d said, smiling in a way that was clearly strained. She pouted before she let him go. He looked up and caught you watching, and this time the smile was real.

He slid back into the booth, but next to you instead of across the table, close enough that his knee nudged yours.

“She was friendly,” you commented wryly.

“Just drunk. Besides, I’m already with the prettiest girl in the room,” he said, with an exaggerated wink. You rolled your eyes.

“The cheese is going to kill me,” you said.

It took you by surprise when he kissed you. His hand was warm and rough on your jaw, and you melted into him.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he mumbled against your lips, and you hummed in agreement. Sure, you’d promised yourself it would be a one-time-only thing, but-

God, he smells good.

You kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and running a hand through his silky hair, until another thought occurred to you and you giggled.

“Is Dean gonna kill me?” you asked, and Sam laughed.

“Maybe, if he finds us naked in Baby,” he said. He was kissing your jawline, then nipping gently at your earlobe, making it incredibly hard to focus on his words.

“Why would he- oh, okay, yeah,” you said breathlessly.

“We should get out of here before it gets real awkward for me to stand up,” Sam murmured, but he kissed you again, sweet and slow, before he managed to pull away.

Sam took your hand as you moved through the crowd. You caught a glimpse of Dean, helping a bachelorette make a shot at the pool table, and Cas behind him looking completely fed up, and you were laughing again by the time the cool night air hit your face. You looked up for a moment, letting Sam lead the way, and smiled up at the stars.

He held open the door for you and you slid into the backseat. As soon as the door was closed, he pulled you onto his lap and you straddled him, nerves and excitement and alcohol making you clumsy and eager, and he kissed you hungrily, desperately. There was something so high school about the whole thing, except you’d never had a high school boyfriend who could kiss like Sam.

You’d never been with anyone like Sam. Each touch of those long, elegant hands lit a fire inside you, a sweet slow burn. Part of you wanted to freeze time for a moment, kiss him for hours and forget everything else, and part of you needed so much more.

He wrapped one arm around you, palm splaying across your back as he tried to pull you closer, while his other hand fumbled with the button of your pants. It was an awkward angle, but the first brush of his fingers had you gasping. Your hips twitched forward and he rocked up at the same time, so that you could feel how hard he was through his jeans.

“Pants. Now,” he growled, grabbing at your zipper. You had to squirm away, falling back onto the seat, to wriggle out of them, and you fell over sideways trying to get them untangled from your ankles. By the time you’d straightened yourself out, giggling uncontrollably, Sam had his own jeans down to his thighs. You didn't bother with your shirt.

“Good enough,” you said breathily, and straddled him again. You were still laughing when his hands gripped your hips and pulled you closer, grinding up against you, and then your laugh turned into a long, desperate moan. His fingers found your clit again, massaging gently at the hot, swollen skin until you were whimpering.

You felt the head of his cock rubbing against your entrance and you sank down onto him, letting out a choked cry at the near-painful fullness. His head fell back against the upholstery. You could see the outline of his neck in the shadows, the way he was biting his lip, and when you twisted your hips, you could see the gorgeous shape his mouth made when it fell open.

Everything felt so good, so fucking good, the way he stretched you open and the way he surged up against you, the sting of his teeth on your neck, the muscles of his shoulders under your hands. It was rough and frantic and perfect. Each roll of your hips sent a heat wave rippling through you. You moved mindlessly, completely overwhelmed by sensation, and before long you were too far gone to keep any sort of coherent rhythm. All you could feel was his hard, heavy cock dragging against each little sensitive spot inside you. You were shaking, writhing against him, crying out wordlessly with each movement.

He slipped a hand between you to rub your clit, and the delicious pressure in your belly crested and rolled through your body, making your back arch with the electric-shock force of it.

“God, I can’t-” he bit out. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you still, and he slammed up into you, fucking you with a force that sent your eyes rolling back in your head. Each thrust pushed another sharp throb of pleasure through you, extending your orgasm until you were a boneless, trembling mess. He came with a strangled shout, squeezing you so close it knocked out all the air that was left in your lungs.

You rested your forehead on his shoulder, feeling the dampness where his sweat had soaked through his shirt, completely breathless.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah...holy shit.” He brushed a few strands of sweaty hair back from your forehead and kissed you.

You rested, slumped on top of him, until both of you could breathe normally again.

“We should, y’know, put our pants back on,” you said reluctantly.

“You should definitely put your fucking pants back on,” came Dean’s voice from outside.

“Shit!” you said. You tried to cover yourself, but luckily, the windows were thickly fogged over. Sam laughed. The movement sent a little tickle through your sensitive skin, and then you were giggling too.

“Assholes,” you heard Dean grumble.

“Sorry, Dean,” you called, struggling with your pants.

“How long have you been standing there?” Sam asked, grimacing.

“Thankfully, that was all I heard,” Dean said. “Now hurry up, it’s time to get outta here.”

When you and Sam were finally decent and you opened the door, Dean was rolling his eyes, every bit the long-suffering older brother. His shirt was drenched. Cas looked slightly smug.

“Dean got a drink poured on him,” he announced. “Also, I'm not sitting in the backseat any more.”

You and Sam exchanged a look, trying to subdue your giggles.

“Next time you want some privacy, we’ll get two rooms,” Dean growled. “No need to drag my Baby into this.”

“That, then,” Sam said, nodding. “Let’s do that.” Dean rolled his eyes again, but he didn't argue.

You smiled the whole ride back to the motel.

When you woke up the next morning, Sam was curled around you, close enough that you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back. He pulled you closer when you stirred and nuzzled into the back of your neck.

I could get used to this.

Of course, everything went downhill from there. 


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning found the four of you discussing strategy over breakfast. 

“Little fuckin’ difficult to figure out who the leader is when you’re in the middle of a goddamn fight,” Dean said through a mouth full of bacon. 

“We need a better plan, then,” Sam said, looking up from his laptop. “Maybe next time, we stun them instead. Interrogate them when they wake up.” 

“Pain in the ass,” Dean said. You nodded in agreement. 

“We really need to find the witches,” Cas said, brow furrowed as he sipped his coffee. “Go right to the source. If we just pick off the vamp nests one by one...who knows how long that’ll take."

“Or find the tomb before they do,” you interjected. 

“We have no idea how to do that,” Dean pointed out, clearly frustrated. “I mean, sure, let’s start researching, but in the meantime, vamps need killing. Can’t just ignore that. Might not be easy, but that’s what we need to start with.” 

“Dean’s right,” Sam said. “We know the vamps have been hunting for at least a year, right? And they still haven’t found the thing. It must be pretty well hidden. We can’t count on getting there first.” 

“Well, then, let’s get going,” Cas said. “Any leads?” 

“Found a town nearby that’s had three disappearances in the last two weeks,” Sam said. “All from the same bar. Two abandoned properties within walking distance.”

“Time to head out, then,” Dean said, with one last long gulp of coffee. 

It took about an hour to drive to the town Sam had read about, and less time than that to check out the first potential hideout; there was no activity, and nothing visible when you peered through the dirty basement window. The second, though, was obviously being used. It was an industrial property, some sort of abandoned warehouse, with graffiti-covered walls. You could see the occasional flicker of movement behind the windows. 

“Remember, try to just knock them out,” Dean reminded, but he and Sam had knives in their belts, just in case, while you and Cas carried machetes. 

The door wasn’t locked, but it creaked loudly as you opened it, and the sound echoed. You flinched, and everyone paused, alert and ready. 

The vamps weren’t immediately visible. You were in a small entryway, what might’ve been an office once, but it opened up into a larger warehouse. You could hear voices somewhere out in that space. 

“Did you hear something?” one said. Then everything went abruptly quiet. Dean lead the way toward the voice, to where you’d have more room to fight. You had a brief impression of a massive open floor, scattered with rusted machinery, and then the vampires rounded the corner. 

There were six of them, but you could only see two carrying weapons; a short, bald one and a red-haired female were both carrying long knives, but the rest were empty-handed. The relief you felt at that was short lived. It was immediately obvious that the rest didn’t really need more than their fists. The one in the lead didn’t waste any time, just charged at Dean and punched him, hard, and Dean couldn’t evade it in time. He staggered back and almost fell. 

You ducked the first blow that came your way, dodging away from the vampire. He had long, greasy black hair, and in the split-second before he swung again, you were reminded of Snape, and almost laughed. Then his fist connected with your stomach, hard enough to knock the breath out of you, and you fell hard, barely able to roll out of the way of his next attack. 

“Get the fuck away from her,” Sam growled. He came up behind Snape and jabbed a syringe into the vamp’s arm, but while he was preoccupied, the redhead took a wild swing at him, and if he hadn’t jumped away at the last second, she would’ve taken off his left arm just above the elbow. Even with his quick response, you could see blood spreading quickly through his sleeve. 

“Shit,” you said, and it came out choked and panicked. You scrambled to your feet, but before you could do anything, Sam had knocked the vampire to the ground and given her a quick injection. 

And then there was an arm around your neck, so thick and muscled that you couldn’t move an inch. One of the vampires had you trapped. The pressure on your windpipe increased, and you clawed and struggled, but you couldn’t move. As if from a distance, you could see Sam busy with another vamp, but he looked pale, and blood was dripping freely from his left arm. Behind him, Dean’s arms were being held behind his back by one vamp, and another was punching him repeatedly. 

You couldn’t gather enough breath to scream for help. The sounds of fighting faded, and your vision went dark. 

The floor was cold against your back when you woke up. You heard shouting, and a loud _ thunk _ . The pain in your throat made it impossible to speak, and your head throbbed when you tried to sit up. 

“That was the last,” you heard, and recognized Cas’s voice, much to your relief. 

Sam’s face came into view. He was kneeling over you, looking exhausted but relieved. 

“How you feeling?” he asked, and helped you sit up. 

“Shitty,” you whispered, barely able to form the words. 

“Same,” he said. You saw a makeshift bandage around his arm. Looking around, you noticed Cas and Dean standing over a decapitated vampire. Dean had a matching pair of black eyes, and his lip was split and swollen. 

“What happened?” you croaked, suddenly worrying about brain damage. “How long…” 

“Not long,” Sam said. “Minute or two. Things moved fast. I got him off you quickly, but you fell, think you’ll have a nice little egg.” You reached up to prod the back of your head and winced when your fingers found the spot. 

Dean and Cas were busily restraining the three vampires. You guessed they’d been the only ones knocked out, instead of killed, and sure enough, there were three severed heads within view. 

“50/50 ain’t bad,” Dean said, when he saw you watching. “Glad you’re okay, kid.” 

“We need to stick around and wait for these guys to wake up,” Sam said. “You need to get some rest, though. You and Cas should take the car, go get us checked in. We’ll call when this is all taken care of.” 

“Fuck, no,” you said. “Not leaving you guys.” 

Sam’s jaw was set in a way you were already familiar with. He shook his head. “No. You need sleep.” 

“Let me at least look at your arm first.” 

You re-bandaged the cut. It was clean, luckily, and just shallow enough not to require stitches. When you finished, Sam tugged his torn flannel back on and kissed you. 

“Really glad you’re okay,” he said softly. You wanted to make fun of him for being such a mother hen, but instead, you smiled. 

“Let’s hit the road,” Cas said. He took the keys from Dean and the two of you headed for the door. 

As soon as Cas opened the motel room door, you collapsed onto the bed fully dressed, and fell asleep within seconds. It was hours before the sound of the door opening awoke you, and you rolled over blearily to see Sam, trying to be quiet as he toed off his shoes. 

“Wha’ happened,” you mumbled. You’d gotten under the covers at some point, and the sheets were tangled around you. You struggled with them for a moment and felt your entire body cry out, one big aching bruise. Your throat was slightly better, but your head was still pounding. 

“Good news and bad news,” Sam said. He flopped onto the bed the same way you had, face-down and fully-clothed. “Good news, we got some addresses. So we know exactly where to head next.” 

“Bad news?” 

“Vamps are hexed. We asked them about the witches and they just started choking, couldn’t get the words out. Somebody knows we’re coming.” 

You took a moment to digest that. Sam was wriggling out of his clothes, and there was no amount of exhaustion that could make that sight uninteresting. 

“Dean and Cas?” you asked. 

“Next door.” 

“We need a better plan,” you said, as he slipped under the blankets next to you. 

“I have a perfect plan,” he said. “Come here and kiss me.” 

You smiled, in spite of everything, and turned out the light, then rolled over into Sam’s waiting arms. 

The next day, everyone looked drawn and tense when you piled into the Impala. Your body screamed out in protest at every movement. As Dean drove out of the motel parking lot, you felt a wave of anxiety sweep over you; one night on the road, and you could barely walk. Could you really keep doing this? 

It was quiet for a few minutes, but it seemed like Dean, Sam, and Cas were all thinking the same thing. 

“Maybe that’ll be the worst of it,” you suggested. Dean smiled at you in the rearview mirror, and Sam gave your hand a quick squeeze. 

“Can’t get much worse,” Cas replied with a wry smile. 

Famous last words. 

En route to the first address on the list, Dean managed to commandeer a tranquilizer gun, and after stocking up on dead man’s blood, you had it loaded with vamp-ready darts. The idea was for Dean to pick them off slowly from the perimeter, until their numbers were thinned and everyone could go in safely. That went according to plan for all of ten minutes.

It was another industrial space, fenced in, with a concrete perimeter. Two guards stood by the main door. Dean managed two clean, quick shots, and the two vamps went down with a quiet  _ thump _ . Then another opened the door, saw his friends lying on the ground, and closed the door quickly before Dean had time to aim. 

“Now what?” Sam muttered. 

“You, me, and Cas head in,” Dean said. “We try to draw them out. Y/N, you stay right here and be ready to shoot when the door opens.” 

“Why can’t I-” 

“You’re hurt the worst,” Dean said, before you could finish. He handed you the tranquilizer gun and was off without another word. 

You watched from the periphery as Sam shouldered the door down, and listened for the distant sounds of combat. It was absolutely maddening not being able to tell what was happening. 

“Sammy!” you heard Dean yell. 

Your stomach dropped, and you were split-seconds away from giving up and running into the building when two figures stumbled out of the door and started sprinting toward you. It was Cas, leading a young woman. Judging from the bloodstains on her shirt, you were guessing she’d been vampire dinner. 

They were being followed by a huge vampire, and you couldn’t get a clean shot. 

“Cas, duck!” you yelled. He dropped to the ground, grabbing the woman as he did so. Your first shot missed. The second nailed the vamp in the chest, and he went down, tumbling to the concrete just feet behind Cas. 

“Do you know where you are?” he asked the woman urgently, holding her by the shoulders. Her face was pale and completely panicked. She nodded. “Run, then,” he ordered, and she turned and fled. 

Cas shot you a thumbs up and headed back for the door, but before he could make it, two more vamps came flying out and tackled him to the ground. You sprinted toward him. 

The vamps were crouched above him, and you almost screamed too when you realized that one was feeding on him. It looked up at you as you approached, blood dripping from its fangs in a sickening snarl. You shot it point-blank. The other lunged at you, catching you off-balance, and you fell under its weight, skidding for almost a foot over the gritty concrete, and the pain was so intense you felt light-headed. 

The vamp overpowered you and straddled your waist, pinning you to the ground. It wrestled the tranquilizer gun from your grip. You were completely trapped, trying furiously to land a punch, but the thing just grinned as it raised the gun like a baseball bat, getting ready to swing at you. 

Sam’s machete blurred through your field of vision, taking the vampire’s head off in one quick stroke, splattering you with warm blood. You scrambled out from under the corpse. 

“Cas?” you asked, but Cas was sitting up, grimacing, already holding a balled-up cloth to the wound on his neck. 

“We gotta go, Dean’s hurt,” Sam said grimly. Dean was staggering out of the door, bleeding profusely from his right leg. 

“What happened?” you asked, and quickly ran to Dean’s side, wrapping an arm around him to support him. “Med kit’s in the car, let’s go.” He leaned on you heavily, but didn’t say anything. He looked like he could pass out at any second. Sam took the other side and together you half-carried Dean toward the car. 

“Piece of metal pipe,” Sam grunted, when Cas opened the door so that you could rest Dean in the backseat. His legs dangled out so that you could see them clearly. You handed Sam a flashlight. 

“Hold,” you commanded, and cut Dean’s jeans until you could see the gaping wound just above his knee. It had barely missed the femoral artery; he was lucky. Still, it was bleeding freely, and you worked quickly to stitch him up, ignoring his little growls of pain. 

“Thank you,” he said gruffly. “You’re good at this shit. Glad you’re around.” 

You blushed. 

The next few fights weren’t much better. By the fifth day, you were all so covered in bruises and cuts that a diner manager threatened to call the police on you while you ate. From then on, you stuck to takeout, with only one person at a time going in to pick it up. 

It might’ve been more manageable if you’d been making progress, but it just felt like you were wandering around in the dark. When you weren’t hunting, you were researching, but nothing more had come up on Alice Kyleter and her descendants, and it seemed like two new nests popped up for each one you eradicated. Maybe that was the case; you’d encountered several freshly-turned vamps in the span of a few days. Sam had a theory that the witches were working some sort of magic to keep the police off the vampires’ trail, because the local sheriffs seemed completely clueless about the number of disappearances in their small towns. Everyone agreed that it would be simpler to target the witches directly, but there didn't seem to be any effective way of doing that. The frustration was getting to everyone. 

“This is starting to feel pointless,” Cas said bitterly at the end of one hunt, looking down at the lifeless victim you’d been too late to save. You’d found many more dead than you’d managed to save. It was hard to disagree with him. 

Another day, you’d sprinted down to the basement, only to find a vamp standing behind its bound and gagged prey. It put a hand on either side of her head, staring you in the eyes, and snapped her neck while you watched. When you screamed, it laughed. 

The sickening crack of her spine echoed through your head that night, making it impossible to sleep, even long after Sam was snoring next to you. 

When you put on some clothes and walked outside, desperate for some fresh air, you found Dean sitting on top of Baby, drinking a beer. He half-smiled at you and patted the hood next to him. You hopped up, leaning against the windshield, and looked up at the stars. 

“Couldn't stop thinking about her,” you admitted. 

“It doesn't get better,” Dean said frankly. You grabbed the beer bottle out of his hand and took a long sip. “Gotta keep going, though, kid. There would be so many more like her if we stopped. Not to mention a fuckin’ goddess of destruction, or whatever.” 

You nodded, and the two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while. When you finally crept back into bed, you still felt rattled, but sleep came eventually.  

A few nights after Dean’s leg was injured, Sam took a knife to the ribs. You watched it happen, saw the shock on his face, and time seemed to stand still for a moment while blood began to seep through his shirt. He collapsed as if in slow motion. 

The vamp you were fighting took advantage of your distraction and managed to knock you down, and the fight was a blur after that. The next thing you remembered clearly was kneeling next to a half-conscious Sam, pressing Dean’s balled-up flannel against his side. Cas had run to grab your med kit, and he finally handed it to you. 

“Dean, we should take him to the hospital,” you said. There was a lump in your throat and you could barely get the words out. 

“We’re almost an hour from a real hospital,” Dean said grimly. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, kid, and I don’t think he’ll make it that far.” You drew a shaky breath, steeling yourself, and nodded. You handed Sam one of the more intense painkillers from your little stash and he swallowed it without protest, which worried you just as much as the blood did. 

The cut was clean, at least. It took a long time to stitch up, but you managed, trying to ignore Sam’s little grunts and whimpers. Dean paced the entire time. 

That night, when Sam was asleep and you were curled against his uninjured side, you finally let the tears come, sobbing quietly until you felt empty and scrubbed-clean. You watched Sam’s chest rise and fall. For a moment, you’d thought you might lose him, and it had been utterly unbearable. 

You were afraid to think too hard about what that meant.

The breaking point came two nights later. 

Dusk was gathering, and the four of you were surveying the old house that you’d been told was the nest’s hideout. It was surrounded by trees and set well back from the road, so it had been easy to find cover and observe, but you’d been watching for a few hours, and there was no sign of any activity. 

“Maybe we should just go in,” Sam said, and Dean shrugged. 

You approached cautiously, but as you came close to the sagging front porch-

“Help!” you heard faintly, from inside. “Please, help me!” 

Without a word, all four of you broke into a run. Dean punched through the glass of the front door and reached around to unlock it. 

“Up here,” the voice called, and Sam led the way up the stairs. To the right, in the master bedroom, you could see a figure in a chair, framed by the doorway. 

You had just stepped into the bedroom when the door slammed shut behind you. When you whirled around, you found two huge vamps advancing on you, and four more were coming from the bathroom door. The “victim” was standing now as well, displaying some decidedly un-victim-like fangs. They had you trapped and surrounded. 

“Shit,” Dean said. Then everything started moving too fast. 

You ducked an axe and almost fell. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Sam whirling around, his knife whistling through the air, and the vamp who had attacked you fell, lifeless. 

A horrifying  _ crack _ made you spin around, and you saw Cas on his knees, with a vamp holding his arm behind him at a terrible angle. Cas screamed, a raw ugly sound that sent chills through you. 

“No!” you shouted. Dean swung his knife and the vampire fell in a shower of cartoon-red blood, but it was too late. Cas had collapsed completely, cradling his broken arm, eyes rolling back in his head as he fought to stay conscious. 

A massive fist found the side of your head as you watched, knocking you to the ground and making stars explode at the edges of your vision. You almost gave up there and then. The world blurred out of focus for a moment. You were too damn tired, too achy, too fucking terrified, and no amount of adrenaline would keep you going for much longer, but you had to try. 

You got to your feet shakily and lunged at one of the vamps. Somehow you managed to hack through its neck, but the effort took everything you had left. 

You wouldn’t have gotten out alive without Sam and Dean, and even then, it was a close call. Dean dropped his knife at some point and was instead fighting with the chair the “victim” had been sitting in, twisting and spinning and bashing the wood against a vampire until it fell, and then Sam took its head off with one clean stroke. 

It was a shock when everything fell silent and the fight was over. You almost fell as you hurried to Cas, legs shaking and threatening to buckle. He was whining through gritted teeth, eyes wide and scared, distinctly green around the mouth. You registered, in a distant calm corner of your brain, that this was the worst he’d ever been hurt. 

“Dean, I need strips of cloth,” you said evenly. You put away your own fear to give Cas a reassuring smile. “Sam, that chair. Break off a leg.”

He did, handing you the piece of wood, while Dean busied himself cutting a shirt off of one of the vampires and then ripping it into long pieces. You sliced open Cas’s sleeve and inspected his arm. It wasn’t an open fracture, at least. 

“This is going to hurt,” you told him, and he raised his eyebrows as if to say “duh.” You prodded until you could feel the position of the bones and then gripped the arm, setting the broken ends back into place carefully. You used the chair leg as a splint, wrapping it firmly with strips of cloth. 

Cas was completely white when you were done, but he smiled weakly and thanked you. Dean and Sam practically had to carry him back down the stairs. 

“That needs ice as soon as we get to the motel,” you managed, but nobody responded. It seemed like everyone was lost in their own thoughts. The comforting rumble of Baby’s engine almost lulled you to sleep before you made it to the motel. 

“I’ve made a decision,” Castiel said suddenly, turning down the radio so everyone could hear him. “I’m going to go get my grace back.” 

A long silence greeted his words. 

“What the fuck, Cas,” Dean finally said. 

“I’m no use to you like this,” Cas said sadly. “I’m not as good of a fighter as you, and now I’m injured. I’ll be holding you back. Besides, I think we’re in over our heads.” 

“So you’re just going to give up?” Dean snapped. “Fan-frickin-tastic.” 

“No, Dean, I am going to get my grace back, and then I’m going to come help you. As wonderful as Y/N has been at fixing us up, I can be more useful to you if I can heal you.” 

“It would be good to have some angel power on our side,” Sam said quietly. 

“How are you even going to do that?” you asked. 

“I’m going to go to the entrance to heaven, and...I’m not sure. But I know I have to try,” Cas said. 

“We’ll come with you,” Dean insisted. “We’ve got your back, Cas.” 

“This is something I need to do on my own. I don’t think your presence will do any good.” 

Silence, again, as everyone digested his words. Dean looked furious, although you weren’t sure if it was because Cas was leaving or because Cas had called him useless. 

“We’ll miss you, though,” you said softly. Cas turned around awkwardly in his seat to give you a reassuring smile. 

“I hope it won’t take too long. I should be back soon.” 

“So, what, you’re just going to hitchhike to heaven?” Dean grumbled. 

“I’m going to ask you to take me to the bus station tomorrow. I can get to the town where the gate is located by Greyhound, I believe. I can figure it out from there.” 

Dean tried to protest again, but Castiel had made up his mind, and there was strained silence for the rest of the drive. 

Cas gave you a one-armed hug before you entered your separate motel rooms that night, squeezing longer than he usually would. 

“Thank you for everything,” he said sincerely. 

“We’ll miss you,” you mumbled, and busied yourself with your key card. 

“He’ll be fine,” Sam said, once you had settled in. He didn’t sound entirely convinced. You could hear the rumble of Dean and Cas’s argument continuing through the thin motel wall as you brushed your teeth. 

“I don’t even understand how grace works,” you said, changing into the tank top you slept in. “Don’t understand how the fuck he plans to get it back.” 

“Not sure if he has a plan either,” Sam said. 

It was hard to admit it to yourself, but Cas’s decision had shaken you more than any other setback so far. You could feel anxiety rising in your throat, and your hands shook as you pulled off your jeans. 

Sam was watching you, propped up on one elbow in just his boxers, and the sight of him calmed you, just as it always did. You ran your fingers down his ribs, avoiding the puffy purple-yellow bruises that dotted his torso. 

“That one still hurts like a motherfucker,” Sam laughed gingerly, when you paused to inspect the wide cut across his side. 

“Healing up, though,” you mumbled. The stitches were dark and ugly, but they were doing their job. 

“Thanks to you,” he said. He grabbed you by the wrist and kissed the tips of your fingers, then the knuckles. “Magic hands. Not sure what we’d have done without you.” 

You shook your head, embarrassed. “You guys are great at patching yourselves up. If you didn’t have me slowing you down, you might not have any of those.” 

“Bullshit.” He was frowning. You reached out to smooth the lines of his forehead. “You hold your own. And I can do the occasional stitch, but not like that, and I never would’ve been able to set an arm. I can’t imagine doing this without you.” 

You blushed, tracing a scar on his collarbone, not sure what to say to that. He saved you from having to answer with a slow, deep kiss. 

He was so warm, so solid, so strong, and when he kissed you, you could almost forget the fear and doubt that was threatening to overtake you.  

“You okay?” he whispered. 

You hadn’t realized that you were shaking. 

“Scared,” you admitted. 

“S’okay,” he said, and pressed a line of butterfly-soft kisses across your cheek. “I got you.” 

When his mouth found yours again, it was all tongue and teeth and searing pressure, hot and messy. He kept brushing bruises and cuts as he ran his hands over you, and you knew you were doing the same to him, but the pain was nothing compared to the burning  _ need _ to have his body pressed against yours. 

He paused to carefully pull off your tank top, and then he was still, for a moment, looking at you. He was drinking in the sight of your bare skin as if he’d never seen it before. When your eyes met, something had changed; delicate, somehow, more fragile, like something would break if you moved too quickly. 

Your head fell back against the pillow as he kissed his way down your body. He took his time, brushing his lips over every inch of skin he could find. He sucked gently at your nipples until the skin pebbled and then swirled his tongue in little circles until you were squirming, savoring the sweet building heat in your core. He kissed every scar on your torso, every freckle, nipped at the roll of skin just under your belly button, even traced his tongue over the stretch marks on the inside of your thigh, the ones you’d always hoped men wouldn’t notice, but it was  _ Sam _ , and you didn’t mind. 

He smiled up at you from between your legs before he tugged your panties down. The first touch of his tongue on your clit was a caress, languid and lazy, and a perfect tingle spread through your body. 

“Taste so good,” he said softly, humming against your skin, and you could feel the vibrations of it. 

You whimpered and let your eyes fall closed as his tongue slid down to your entrance, savoring the gentle pressure as he licked into you slowly. His tongue darted up to your clit again, flickering over it carefully, then thrust back into you, soft, almost unbearably sweet. He was still just exploring, taking his time, but each deliberate movement sent liquid heat curling up your spine, building until you were writhing and gasping. 

“Wait,” you whispered, and he paused. “C’mere, want you…” 

He pulled off his boxers before he crawled back up the bed, covering your entire body with his, so that you could feel every inch of smooth, sweat-glazed skin and hard muscle. He cupped your face with one giant palm, resting his forehead against yours; he was too close for your eyes to really focus on his face, but you could see the light catching on his long eyelashes before he was kissing you again. 

You couldn’t help but cry out when he lined up and slowly, ever so slowly, began to thrust into you. Being with Sam was always intense, but this was so much more than usual. Every inch of your skin felt raw and overstimulated, and when he finally stilled, buried deep inside you, you were trembling, completely overwhelmed by sensation. 

He was looking down at you with a strange sort of fierceness. He licked his lips and paused, like he wanted to say something, but instead he kissed you again and pulled your leg up around his waist. You arched against him, whimpering. 

When he finally began to move, slow and powerful, it pulled a desperately needy sound from your throat. You couldn’t stop touching him, running your hands up his biceps, stroking your thumb over the prickle of stubble on his jaw, threading your fingers through his hair. He was all you could feel, all you could see, and you still couldn’t get him close enough. 

He shifted, rolling his hips against yours, and his cock dragged over some exquisitely sensitive spot inside you. Each thrust knocked the breath out of you. The heat of it was so all-consuming that your orgasm almost took you by surprise, as if you’d forgotten that it could possibly feel any better, but suddenly there was a wave of electricity rushing through your body. You shuddered, muscles tensing, every nerve ending alive and singing, head thrown back in a long wordless moan as he fucked you through it. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he gasped, and the tenderness in his voice was stunning. Your eyes snapped open. The sight of him made your body throb with need all over again. His golden skin was slick with sweat, his eyes dark and half-closed, and he was biting down on his swollen lower lip, holding back a gorgeous low groan as his thrusts began to falter.  

His hand snaked down between you and found your clit, and within seconds, you could feel your body responding almost too powerfully. Sparks crackled at the edges of your vision and you clenched and tightened around him. You moaned Sam’s name as you came, and you felt him shaking against you, cock pulsing as he found his own release. 

His weight was resting on you, heavy but grounding. His breathing began to slow. 

He kissed you, lips sweat-salty, and smiled against your mouth before disentangling himself gently and collapsing onto the bed next to you. He wrapped his arms around you, brushing his lips over your shoulder, then your neck. The intimacy of it all made you feel like you were choking. 

Something wild and terrifying was building in your chest. Your heart was racing, and tears began to prick at your eyes. 

He made a confused little noise when you pulled away; he was already half-asleep. 

“Bathroom,” you whispered, and padded unsteadily to the door. 

When it clicked closed behind you, you sank to the floor. You were shivering uncontrollably. Every part of you wanted to be close to Sam again, wanted to be curled up with him. 

You felt vulnerable, exposed, like he’d ripped you open in some way you couldn’t come back from. You’d been so fucking  _ strong _ before he found you. And now...now you were afraid you’d shatter if he left. 

The tears spilled over, rolling down your cheeks. You sat alone on the cold tile floor and tried to make yourself stop loving Sam Winchester. 

 


	11. Chapter 11

You barely slept that night. All you wanted was to snuggle against Sam’s muscled back and press yourself against him, wake up with his arms draped over you and his breath tickling your neck. You didn’t want to want that so badly. You lay awake at the far edge of the bed, body tense and stiff, trying to stay away from him. 

All you’d wanted was sex, for fuck’s sake. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

It wasn’t just love that was terrifying, although...yeah, being in love was  _ terrifying _ . There was the whole usual “what if he realizes I’m a bitch?” set of issues, fear of commitment, fear of fucking it all up. 

More importantly, being with Sam meant committing to life as a hunter. It meant giving up on college, your degree, your goals, even your poor parents, who still thought you were doing volunteer work in Africa. There was a part of you that felt more at home in this life that you ever had at Stanford. There was a part of you that couldn’t imagine just ignoring all the horrific monsters in the world, putting it aside to live the blue pill life again. But being with Sam would mean saying goodbye to any chance of a normal life, and you weren’t ready for that, either. 

You listened to the soft whistle of his exhales and watched the faint outlines of his form become visible as pre-dawn light filtered through the window. 

There was no way you could imagine Sam living the sort of long, healthy life you wanted to live. Sam was going to die. The thought of it was choking you, making it feel like a cold iron hand was gripping your ribcage and squeezing the life out of you, and you had to blink back tears again. If the thought of Sam dying was doing this to you  _ now _ , what would it be like in a year? Two years? If you got married? The pain would be unbearable. It’s not like you could just ask him to change for you. Sam fucking Winchester would be trying to save the world until the day it killed him. 

You had to cut your losses and get out while you could. Simple self-preservation, that was all. 

You’d been fine without him once. You could do it again. Better to do it now, before it got any harder. 

You gave up on sleep around the time the rays of sunlight started to tint pink and orange. You took a long, hot shower, letting the water soothe your sore muscles, and dressed carelessly. One of Sam’s shirts, the green one you liked to borrow, had found its way into your duffel. You shoved it into his backpack, trying not to look at it. 

You walked down the street to a greasy little diner you’d spotted the night before and ordered coffee and bagels for everyone. Your phone buzzed as you waited. 

_ Where’d you go? Everything okay? _

_ Coffee. Brb.  _

He was freshly-showered and wearing just a towel when you got back, and the sight of all that muscled golden torso almost broke your resolve. You dropped his coffee and bagel on the bedside table, trying not to look at him, and turned back to the door. 

“Hey, wait-” 

“I’m going to bring Cas and Dean their breakfast,” you snapped, and left before he could say anything more. 

Cas answered when you knocked, looking groggy and wan, holding his splinted arm awkwardly. 

“Thank you,” he said gratefully, accepting the coffee. “I couldn’t sleep. Arm, and all that.” 

“Same,” you said. You heard the shower running, so you set Dean’s coffee down for him and sat on the bed. “You iced it, right?” 

“Just like you told me to.” 

Dean emerged from the bathroom as you finished your bagel, and Sam knocked shortly after. You let him in without meeting his eyes. There were so many mixed emotions rocketing around inside you that your skin felt too tight. You didn’t trust yourself to touch him, or even to be too close to him. 

“Should we just...do the thing, then?” Dean said gruffly, after everyone had spent a long minute eating and staring at each other in silence. 

“Probably best to get on the road,” Cas answered. 

The short drive to the Greyhound station felt like it lasted a year. Dean was glaring at every street sign like it had personally offended him, and Sam was lost in thought, the crinkles in his forehead more pronounced than you’d ever seen them. You wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension, but you kept coming up blank. 

“We can come inside, help you-” Dean started, but Cas shook his head. 

“There’s no point in prolonging it.” 

“Goodbyes are the worst,” you managed. 

“Not goodbye,” Cas said solemnly. He gave you a long one-armed squeeze, then did the same to Sam and Dean, and carefully shouldered his backpack. “I’ll find you.” 

You hadn’t imagined it would be so difficult to leave someone you’d known for so little time, but you couldn’t shake the sickening feeling you wouldn’t see Castiel again. You watched his retreating back until the station door swung shut behind him. Sam tried to put his arm around you when he saw you swiping away tears, but you batted his hand away angrily. 

“Maybe we should take the day off,” Dean said when the three of you had piled back into the car. “Take some time to research. I’m fuckin’ exhausted. I just want a drink. You seem...on edge.” He was looking pointedly at you. 

“I just need some more sleep,” you said irritably. “Woke up too early.” What you really wanted was some space, some privacy, and some time to get your emotions under control, but a nap wouldn’t hurt either. 

“I guess I’ll hit the library,” Sam said. 

Dean decided to go for waffles, because apparently a bagel hadn’t been enough and he needed to drown his sorrows in syrup. He parked Baby out front of the motel and handed Sam the keys. 

“You know the rules,” he said sternly. Sam rolled his eyes. “Have a good nap, kid.” He started walking in the direction of the diner, hands shoved in his pockets and head bowed. 

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Sam asked, as you fumbled with your key card. 

“There’s nothing going on, Sam,” you said. You took a deep breath, hoping he’d just let it go, but he followed you, frowning.  

“I know you’re worried about Cas,” he said. “But he’s going to be fine. C’mere.” He wrapped his arms around you and for a moment, you relented, resting your forehead against his chest and breathing him in. He tried to lean down to kiss you. You stepped back abruptly. 

“I’m fine, Sam,” you snapped. He looked concerned, now, with those stupid sweet eyes that saw right through you, and looking back at him was  _ painful _ . 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said. “We can just-”

You gritted your teeth and made your voice go cold and distant. “I don’t know what you think is happening here, Sam, but I’m not your sweetheart.” 

He raised his eyebrows, but the corner of his mouth twitched up in a tiny smile as if he thought you were joking. “Okay, I get it, you need a nap.” 

“No, I really don’t think you do get it,” you continued. The words were threatening to choke you. “You keep calling me sweetheart, kissing me, trying to take care of me. This is just sex, Sam. That’s all I want from you.” 

“Wow.” His jaw was clenching and unclenching. “Seriously, what’s going on? I know you’re upset, but-” 

“I mean, if you want to fuck, that’s fine,” you snapped. “I could use some stress relief, I guess. But if you’re _ not  _ going to fuck me, get the hell out of my face.” 

He recoiled like you’d punched him. “I don’t understand.” 

“I think I’ve been pretty clear,” you said coolly. Somehow you kept your voice even. “I mean, honestly, it was better when you didn’t have a soul, but we still have fun together, right?” 

The blaze of anger in his expression was sudden and terrifying, and you couldn’t help but take a step back from him, worried you’d gone too far. “Jesus, you are all sorts of fucked up,” he spat. “I thought I had issues…”  _ Took him long enough to notice _ , you thought bitterly. 

“You do have issues,” you sneered. You could feel your hands trembling and you balled them into fists. “Always fucking thinking it’s your job to save the world. To save  _ me _ . I don’t need saving, I was happier on my own. Your stupid fucking hero complex-” 

He closed the distance between you and cut you off with a rough, searing-hot kiss, one hand tangled in your hair, pulling hard enough to make your eyes water and forcing your head back to give him easier access to your mouth. He bit your lower lip so hard you tasted blood. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, when his mouth moved down to your neck, sucking a mark into the delicate skin. Your voice was shaking now. 

“This is what you want, right?” he growled. “You want me to treat you like I don’t give a shit. Get off and get the fuck out, like I did that night. Is this easier for you?” He stepped back enough for you to see the fury in his eyes, the terrible warped smile on his lips.

“Y- yes,” you stammered. 

“Good,” he snarled, and kissed you again, hard enough to bruise. His hands were everywhere, pulling you closer, sliding up your shirt, squeezing your ass, and your body was responding, but something felt so damn  _ wrong _ . 

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was supposed to just give up, walk out, leave you alone. 

_ Hell with it. _ Maybe if he fucked you hard enough, you wouldn’t be able to feel anything else. 

You sucked his lower lip into your mouth and rocked your hips forward. His fingernails dragged down your back, and you let out a disgustingly needy noise at the sudden sting. He  _ shoved _ , just hard enough that the backs of your knees hit the bed and you half-fell back onto it. 

You’d never seen him look this out of control before. His chest was heaving and his pupils were dilated, and for the first time, you were scared of Sam, scared of what he could really do to you. 

Maybe the fear showed in your face. Maybe you flinched. Maybe he just thought better of whatever he’d been about to say. Either way, the anger in his eyes  _ melted _ when he saw you looking up at him. His shoulders dropped, and his mouth went soft and slack, and something twisted in your chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t do this.” Some strange, raw expression was flickering over his features. It was hard to look at him. 

“Why not?” you asked, but it came out as a whisper. 

“I love you,” he said. His lips twitched around the words, like they were painful to get out. “I love you, and I’m not going to pretend I don’t. I can’t- I can’t do this. Not like this. If you don’t love me, that’s fine, but I love you and I want to be with you and I’m not going to settle for- for whatever this is. For just sex.” 

Your mouth was working, but no sound came out. 

“I know you don’t need me,” he said, and he was staring at the carpet now, talking as if you weren’t there. “That’s one of the things I love about you, and I don’t expect that to change. You wouldn’t be...you wouldn’t be  _ you _ , if you just let me take care of you.” 

He looked up at you again, giving you this sad little smile that showed off his dimples, and you let out a long, shuddering breath. You had no idea what to say. 

He waited for a moment. You bit your lower lip, willing your brain to work. 

“I’m gonna go,” he said. “I’m gonna go to the library, I guess.” 

Your tongue felt numb and useless. Your vision was blurring with tears. You watched him walk to the door and leave without a second glance. 

You weren’t sure how long you sat there. It was long enough to think of a thousand things you should’ve said, long enough to replay the argument until everything you’d said was agonizingly burned into your brain, long enough to memorize the faded floral pattern of the old motel comforter under your hands, but you still couldn’t seem to move. 

A loud knock broke your trance. The sound sent an electric thrill through you, and even though you still didn’t know what to say, you jumped up to open the door, heartbeat pounding in your ears. 

_ He came back. He came back, and I can fix this. _

You tugged at the doorknob eagerly, opening it without thinking, and then you realized: it wasn’t Sam. 

_ Shit.  _


	12. Part 12

You should’ve been quicker. You should’ve looked through the fucking peephole, at least, or grabbed a weapon before you opened the door, or  _ something _ . Instead, three vampires had stepped through the door and knocked you to the ground before you could even blink. 

Two of them were on you immediately, one stuffing a rag into your mouth and effectively gagging you, while the other held up a syringe. 

“See how you like it,” the vamp sneered, and the needle pricked your arm. He held you down as the drug began to work, but you felt it instantly. It made your limbs feel unbearably heavy and your vision began to blur. You struggled to keep your eyes open. 

The third vampire swam into focus, and you saw he was holding up your duffel bag. 

“This must be hers,” he said. “Anything else?” 

One dug a hand into your pockets, and you recoiled feebly from his touch, already too far gone to struggle. “Phone’s here,” he said, and raised it in his hand triumphantly. 

“Should we write a note?” one said, and through the fog of sedatives, you began to realize what they were doing. 

“Nah, let’s just make it look like she…” 

Before you could hear the end of the sentence, darkness closed in and you surrendered. 

\-----

In the strange disorientation of dragging yourself back to consciousness, fear was the first thing your sluggish nervous system could process. It was choking you before you could even open your eyes, thick and dizzying, and for a moment, before you could remember, you felt like you were waking from a nightmare.

The truth was worse than any nightmare could’ve been. When your memories snapped back into clarity, you felt like you’d been plunged into a bucket of ice water. 

The gag was still in your mouth, making your tongue and throat almost painfully dry, and your head was pounding from the aftereffects of the drug. Your head spun as you tried to take stock of the situation. The room looked like an attic, low-ceilinged, with exposed beams that were covered in spiderwebs. A small round window at the other end of the room let in a few rays of sunshine, but it was mostly dark. You twisted, to the best of your ability, and saw a door that must lead downstairs. 

You were handcuffed to a chair, of-fucking-course. You thought bitterly of the first time you’d found yourself in this situation, and the way your heart had jumped in your chest when you’d heard Sam and Dean coming to save you. 

The vamps had known, somehow. They knew where to find you, and they’d waited until Sam and Dean were gone, which must mean they also knew where Sam and Dean were… which meant that, for all you knew, Sam and Dean might be dead or captured already. And even if they were alive, if the vamps had made it look like you left on purpose, like there hadn’t been a struggle, Sam and Dean might not be looking for you. 

_ Sam.  _ Something cold and sickening was gripping at your insides. Why the hell would Sam want to look for you, after everything you’d said? He was probably glad you were gone. 

There wasn’t going to be a rescue this time around. You were on your own. 

A wild surge of panic rose in your chest, and you gulped in a few quick, shallow breaths, trying to fight it. 

_ You can do this. Think. You need a plan. _

You pulled experimentally at the handcuffs, but they were heavy and attached to a thick length of chain, and you didn’t have any sort of wire you could use to pick the lock. Your feet were chained to the chair as well. Even if you could get out, the door would be locked from the outside, and you weren’t stupid enough to jump from a third story window… 

The vampires had to want something with you, though. There must be some reason they were holding you. Might as well find out what they had in mind. 

You rocked your body forward to the best of your ability, managing to scoot the legs of the chair a couple inches back and forth so that they made a loud noise against the wood floor. The effort made your vision go fuzzy again, but you kept it up, and before long, you could hear footsteps on the stairs. 

You listened carefully, and heard no less than three padlocks being unfastened before the door creaked open. Two vamps entered; one was huge, with faded tattoos covering his arms and his bald head, and the other was wiry and long-haired. He was staring at you with a little half-smile that made you shiver, and something about the intensity in his eyes reminded you of Charles Manson. 

Baldy pulled the gag from your mouth. You winced, trying to work up enough saliva to speak, but your mouth felt like a desert. 

“You get water if you talk,” Baldy said gruffly. You looked up at him defiantly, eyebrows raised, and shook your head. 

“And if you don’t talk,” Creepy-Eyes said, sliding a thin knife smoothly from his sleeve, “I get to play. And I’ll make you talk.” 

You shuddered at the open anticipation on his face. 

“Wh- what do you want to know?” you croaked. 

“We want to know everything you know,” Creepy-Eyes said. “What’s the Winchesters’ plan? Where are they heading next? What do you know about the book?” 

You considered carefully for a moment, weighing your options, and decided that the truth couldn’t hurt. 

“The witches are using you,” you told him. “They’re going to kill you to complete a spell. You’re not getting shit out of this deal.” 

“Bullshit,” he spat. He knelt, and you couldn’t flinch away while he removed your shoes. He held the knife to the sole of one foot and you cringed, pulse pounding uncomfortably. “Tell the truth.” 

“I am telling the-  _ fuck _ ,” you gasped, as he opened a shallow cut on the tender arch of your foot. 

“Now,” he said slowly, smirking, “Tell me what you know.” 

“I told you-” 

He dug the point of the knife in between your two biggest toes, applying just enough pressure to break the skin. 

“You want to know why I’m doing this to your feet?” he asked. 

_ Not fucking really. _ But you said, sarcastically, “Enlighten me.” 

“Well, they’re far from your major organs, for starters. The bosses want you alive, unfortunately, so I’ve been instructed to be… careful. But there’s plenty I can do with your feet to make you hurt. Toenails, for example. You’re going to have a hard time trying to run away with all your toenails missing.” 

He grinned, a deranged glint in his eye, and you fought down a wave of nausea. 

“Wonderful,” you said tightly. 

“Besides,” he continued, running the flat of the blade over your heel, “I just really like feet.” He leered. 

“That’s fucking disgusting,” you snapped before you could help yourself. 

His face went cold and furious. 

“Bad choice of words,” Baldy said, with a chuckle that made your skin crawl. 

Before you could fully process what was happening, Creepy-Eyes had yanked a pair of pliers from his back pocket and had your ankle in a vice-like grip. A second later, he clamped, and tugged, and you screamed. 

Your body was trying valiantly to make you unconscious, so you wouldn’t have to handle the pain, but you fought it. You couldn’t help the tears that gathered in your eyes, but you managed to grit your teeth and stay silent. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of hearing you scream again. 

“She’ll talk after a couple days without food,” Baldy said carelessly, and started to head for the door. “Let’s go.” 

Creepy-Eyes was watching you with a hunger that made your skin crawl, but he reluctantly picked up his tools and followed. 

“See you soon, darling,” he crooned, and then the door closed and you were alone again. 

For all your efforts to breathe, to maintain your composure, to sink into some sort of trance that would make the pain seem more distant, you found yourself sobbing. 

The hours dragged on. Night fell, and you drifted off into an uneasy semi-unconsciousness, too uncomfortable to really sleep. Your body ached, cramped and weak with hunger, and your missing toenail throbbed. The sun rose again. 

You tried to stay positive, to keep fighting, to come up with some miraculous plan. You really did. But no matter how you looked at it, you couldn’t find any sort of hope. 

More than anything, though, you thought of Sam. You replayed the argument over and over again, reliving every horrible thing you’d said to him. You thought of his strength, and his steadiness, and the calm, matter-of-fact way he’d find a solution, if he were there with you. You thought of everything you’d say, if you could see him again, starting with  _ I love you.  _

At one point, a door slammed shut downstairs, and you felt a momentary prickle of excitement, thinking for a split-second that it might be Sam and Dean. But nobody came for you. 

The sun set and then rose again. Your muscles cramped painfully and your empty stomach growled, and you fell into a sort of daze, too weak to stay awake but too uncomfortable to sleep. 

On the third day, Baldy appeared with a dirty cup of water. 

“Ready to talk?” he asked. 

You considered it for a moment. You hated yourself for considering it, but you couldn’t help it. 

Before you could say anything, a loud shout came from downstairs. You heard a clattering set of footsteps making their way upstairs, and then a voice behind you said, “Come quick, we found her!” 

Baldy dropped the cup without a second glance, letting its precious contents spill onto the floor, and slammed the door shut once again. 

_ Her? _


End file.
